


Angel of Death

by luciolelights



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Gen, implied pharoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6942739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciolelights/pseuds/luciolelights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A heartbroken Erik passes into the next life, but instead of resting in peace, he becomes an angel meant to watch over Christine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Life

It took one final fit of coughing for me to feel my own mortality wither away. Blood splattered and dripped from my lips, my eyes were covered with a hazy lens. I could hear the Daroga shouting at me, but the words he spoke were unclear. I felt my body rising, not by my own strength, and soon I realized I had been lain down upon my bed. The coughing ceased, and once my eyes could focus once more, I caught the Daroga gazing at me, agitation and concern spilling from his pools of jade.

“Daroga...” I breathed heavily, “You do too much... for me...”

He answered by running a cloth to the blood dripping from my lips, running a hand along my brow. I adjusted myself against a pile of pillows, comfortable enough I had hoped for a peaceful death. For two weeks now, my health had depleted more with each passing day. I was prepared for the demise my shattered heart would give me. The only fortune was that the Daroga was beside me, and I would, I had hoped, die with his company. It was better than dying in solitude, which I believed I would.

The Daroga began adjusting the blankets over me, “I know. You are a fool, but you are still important to me, Erik. Even a monster shouldn't suffer this way.”

That word hurt, but I knew he did not mean it. He knew me better than I would allow anyone else the privilege.

He rose from the chair beside my bed, and I snatched at his wrist.

“Daroga! Don't go yet, please....” my voice was raspy, and I felt another fit of coughing on its way.

“I was going to get you some water.”

“I do not think it is needed...”

His expression became blank, if he had not the skin of a fig I'm sure he would have gone pale. I wheezed as I hacked and sputtered, blood spilling from my mouth once again. He disobeyed my only request, and rushed from the room. My vision was blurred once more, and all I knew was that he pulled away from my touch and fled.

I fell back onto the pillows and sheets, grasping them as my lungs felt as if they were about to burst. The pain was white-hot, forming in my chest and spreading to every limb. I was tired of this suffering, I wanted it to end. I wanted to be free. A part of me had hoped it would end this time, and yet... another part wanted to live on. To see Christine again.

Oh, Christine. I was a fool to think I could survive the torment her leaving would bring me. Even now as I could feel my lifespan withering away, she still managed to remain in my thoughts. Her image was forming now in my mind, over the hazy darkness that was shrouding my eyes. Her pale skin, her chocolate curls, the way her eyes shined their crystal blue shade whenever she sang... it was foolish of me to think I could move on. Even now as death awaited me, my angel of music was all I could think of. I forgot in that instant my own faltering mortality, letting my mentality drift away.

The Daroga burst back into the room, I could hear the door slam, and he called out my name repeatedly. Erik, Erik, Erik.... but I could barely hear him. Or rather, I refused to listen. Until finally, my vision was black. The Daroga's cries were soon silenced by emptiness.

I had believed it finally over.

An empty, black void was my only reality now. I could feel myself falling, slipping further and further into an abyss.

Until finally, all I could see was light.

My eyes shot open, and I sat upright immediately. I was perplexed. How? How on earth could I still be alive? My first feelings were confusion, followed by denial and finally, grief. I wished longingly for the sweet embrace of death, and it was denied to me once more.

Glancing around, I saw the familiar sight of my tattered bedroom. When Christine left, I put myself in such a rampage that I destroyed my entire home. Broken tables and chairs followed by ripped sheets of music and architectural designs scattered the floors. I paid little attention to them, but I knew the Daroga was bothered by the destruction. I did not care.

I then noticed the Daroga. He was bent over me, sobbing uncontrollably. Why was it necessary for him to act this way? I was alive, was I not?

“Oh you great booby, raise yourself! I am fine!” I scowled at him. He did not respond, nor did he make any indication that he even heard me. “Are you deaf as well as idiotic, Daroga?”

I reached my hand out to him in an attempt to tug at his shoulder, but my hand went through him.

“What?! What is this...?”

I bolted from the bed, passing through the entirety of the Daroga's body. I turned now to face the bed, only to discover... myself. Laying there, motionless.

I was dead.

It was horrifying, not only to see myself, but to see my only friend crying over my lifeless corpse. This must have been a dream, or a vision, or some sort of joke. I pinched and prodded at my own skin, trying to awaken myself from this nightmare, to no avail. All I could do left was scream. Nobody could hear my cries.

I lay motionless on the ground, nearly ripping my hair out in frustration and, ultimately, terror. I heard the Daroga cease his crying, and he began to speak to himself. It felt revolting to listen to him speak as if I wasn't there, when in fact, I heard everything.

He stood and began pacing the room, “I can't believe... no, he can't be dead yet...”

I raised my head and listened intently.

“I know, I should... find Christine. Tell her that Erik is dead. But she...”

He began crying again. I felt like a disturbed pervert, watching the Daroga like this when he thought himself alone. I stood from the floor, trying not to gaze at my own corpse lying in plain sight.

“I'm sorry, Daroga...” the words formed despite my knowledge he could never hear them, “this is all my fault. I failed you.”

I decided then that I needed to leave this room. I had no knowledge of what had happened to me, or why. I knew I needed to leave this place, to find out just that answer. I turned back once more, for reasons and feelings I couldn't explain. I watched as the Daroga sat in the chair beside the bed, his crying had ceased and he was gazing blankly at me. His hand was trailing my cheek, and it was a disturbing sight to watch him caress my corpse. Finally, he stood and rushed from the room, mumbling to himself about Christine. I watched as he went through the entrance of my home, leaving the door ajar behind him.

There was little point in following after him immediately. I decided to leave my home underneath the opera after waiting for the Daroga to get far ahead of me, but not before stopping to find the only mirror I knew I owned. It was always covered in a drapery, and frankly, I wasn't sure why I bothered to keep the horrid object in my home. I refused to go anywhere near it. But now that I was dead, did I truly care?

The mirror was hidden in the furthest room in my home, in the most cluttered corner. While walking back there, I carefully stepped through the wake of destruction I had uttered in the rest of the home. Scattered papers and broken furniture covered every room, and looking on it now I felt remorse. I could not imagine now how the Daroga could deal with my childish tendencies and my wanton destruction.

I finally reached the furthest room, the Louis-Philippe room, and approached the covered mirror. I unearthed it, pulling the drapery away, and finding myself staring blankly at the image that I saw. The man that stood before me was... a man. Not a ghost, and most certainly not a monster. Still, while hard to believe, I knew it was myself. The familiar raven black hair and golden eyes reflected back to me, but my face... my face was nothing I was familiar with. I looked like a normal human. The way I had always believed I had meant to be, until fate decided to toy with me. I had a nose now, and I immediately touched it, the unfamiliar sensation sparking a fire within me. I was wearing the same clothes I had when I died, trousers and a chemise with a waistcoat. However, I could see something else looming behind me, an enormous and indistinguishable black blob.

I shifted my body against the mirror, only to find the blob move with me. It took me a moment to register this... thing, was a part of my body now. It took even longer to realize they were _wings_. Black, feathered wings. What cruel joke was this? I was finally given the face of a normal man, only to become the angel of death I had always claimed myself to be. If a god truly did exist, I was certain at this point that he was toying with me.

I definitely needed to leave this house, I decided. There was only one person on my mind at this point: _Christine_.

***

The streets of Paris reflected the sunlight all around me, and I shielded myself from the unfamiliar light. Living in the cellars of the opera for so many years, I had forgotten about such things existing. All I had known was darkness, and it was now in light that I wandered.

The Rue Scribe was bustling with passersby, who paid no attention to me, just as Nadir did. I understood now that I had no corporeal form on this earth, I was doomed to watch the world move on without me, as if I had never taken part. There was an aching in my chest, but I had to think. _Think_. I needed to find Christine, that was all I knew. I knew where the Vicomte de Chagny resided, I remembered well the time I had infiltrated his home, when he managed to shoot me. I knew they were to be wed soon, a thought I tried to force out of my mind after the intense ache I felt at the memory. There was no where else she could have been.

Instead of heading there by foot, I stretched the newfound wings attached to my back. Knowing that I was already dead and there was nothing to lose, I tried several different animations in an attempt to raise myself from the ground. They were initially unresponsive, but I believe that was due to my own unfamiliarity of this bizarre situation. Once I made the correct movements, I was lifted from the ground and I made my towards the de Chagny villa.

Though frightening at first, the sensation of flight was indescribable in the glee that it granted me. How ironic that only my death would bring me the peace I so desired. The heavy chains of a life of solitude and hiding were lifted, and only now did I feel alive. I felt _free_.

I recognized the de Chagny villa as soon as I spotted it, remembering well the balcony I had watched the vicomte from in the midst of darkness. Looking back on that night, it was a regret of mine now that I didn't kill him when I had the chance. None of this would have happened if I had killed him then. I'm sure that, without him, Christine would have been mine by now. I never would have died of a broken heart, I never would have been doomed to roam the world as an invisible being.

No, no... it was too late now to put all the blame on that boy. I hated him, yes, but despite all that vile hatred I knew he was the one who could make Christine happy. Even if this all ended differently, I would have given Christine an unhappy marriage. I was not a man who was emotionally capable of providing for her. Truly, I knew I had granted her one kindness out of many times of despair. I was not worthy of her love.

I made a hard landing on Raoul's balcony, grunting at the unpleasant return to solid ground. Peering into the window into his bedroom, I saw nothing. The house was enormous, they could have been anywhere. I tugged at where the window opened, only to find it locked shut. Cursing under my breath, I looked for other options, until I noticed that my hand had gone through the glass.

“Ah... of course,” I was puzzled, but it had already been a day with plenty of surprises. I tested to see if my arm could fit through the glass, eventually letting the rest of my body go through. I shuddered at the experience.

Walking through Raoul's bedroom door, I found myself in the main foyer of the villa. The room had a winding staircase that led to the ground floor, with a rail that overlooked it. I glanced out at the lower floor, and instantly felt my chest ache and my breath hitch.

Christine was there, sitting on an armchair. She was alone, reading to herself, without a concern.

My elongated fingers coiled around the rail, gripping it tightly enough that the grey of my knuckles faded into white. Suddenly I felt trails of tears dripping from my eyes, spilling onto my twisted hands. For a moment, I had forgotten how to move, my body frozen at the sight of her.

I believe it wasn't the fact that she was there that forced me into this state of despair, but that I could see her clearly, and I could see how happy she must have been. When she was last with me, shadows were forming around her eyes, her complexion had waned, she was stressed beyond belief. It was my own doing, I knew, but it was a great relief to see her _content_. She looked again like the naïve chorus girl, face full and looking like her young age of twenty, despite the recent horrors she experienced. In only two weeks she was so quickly able to bounce back from the months of abuse and torment I had delivered her.

I felt _proud_ of seeing her this way, almost as if I was her father. What tore my heart to bits was that she could never see _me_.

I wasn't sure of what this afterlife would hold for me, but if it meant seeing her happy, then I was grateful.

But I knew I couldn't bear myself to watch her life go by without me. It was selfish, but I had to leave. If one glance had tore me apart, I couldn't imagine an eternity of this. I had no knowledge of what may happen to me in this immortal coil, but I knew that Christine should not be involved with it. I had to get away, but to where, I hadn't a clue.

I gave her one final glance, a faint smile brewing as I watched her turn a page of her book. She shifted her position on the armchair, throwing a strand of chocolate curls away from her shoulder. I released a breath I barely noticed I was holding. Despite everything, seeing her again was worth all of this suffering. She was just as gorgeous as she was when she left my side, and I felt content with this. She would lead a good, fulfilling life without my poison to tarnish her.

It was then I turned to leave back out the balcony, satisfied. I had little idea of what to do now with this bizarre existence, but all I wanted was to escape. Not only this chateau, but Paris itself. A supernatural being had no place in a city filled with life.

I let my wings return me to the sky, and I set myself for somewhere... _anywhere_. It had been many long years since I traveled, maybe it was time to explore once again. I had the freedom now to travel wherever I wished, and what I assumed may have been an eternity to do so. Even if I was doomed to spend this eternity alone, it was no different from the life I had already led. I was content with this, a sense of glee filling me up at the thought.

Just as I saw that I had passed over the outskirts of Paris, a white-hot pain exploded in my chest and pounded up through my head. I gripped at my temples, my wings fluttering in a desperate attempt to keep me in the air. In an instant, both of my wings clenched together and refused to flap, spiraling me directly to the ground.

I landed amongst a canopy, and I watched helplessly as my body passed through every branch, until I landed on the forest floor with a groan. I could no longer tell if the pain worsened due to the fall, or if it was from the same source as before. It seared through my entire body at this point, causing me to scream in agony and grip at my face. I could barely breathe, could hardly even _think_. I had never experienced pain like this before, and I was too ignorant of my current state of existence to know what may have been the cause of all this.

As I lay there writhing and screaming, my wings hitting the ground frantically, my surroundings grew dark as the pain faded. Breathing frantically, I looked about me while sitting up, and I noticed little trails of white smoke spinning around me. They converged in front of me, and swam together to form an image of a person. Not just any person... they created an image of _Christine_.

It took me a moment to wrap my head around this, and all I could do was protest. “No no...” I uselessly sputtered, “I'm moving on from her, you can't... you can't do this to me, not her...” I trailed off, my mind going from despair to the closest I could feel to terror. The smoke trails instantly changed from white to red, and threw away the image of Christine. They moved to swarm around me, from the ground up to my head, growing faster with each moment. Until finally, I lost the ability to breathe. I choked and gagged, my fists pulling up bundles of grass.

“Okay! ...okay,” were the only words I could form, and the smoke disappeared with that. I pulled in a breath, growing weary. The dark haze that surrounded me cleared, and I could see a path laid before me by the smoke, that led back to Paris.

It seemed that, by some strange fate, I was bound to Christine. I had not the foggiest idea what was happening, but I knew better than to challenge these bizarre circumstances. Despite my dearest wishes to avoid watching her life go by, it must have been my destiny to do just that. Whatever power granted me this cursed afterlife, I _despised_ them. Whether it was a human or a god, a being I had no belief in, I had an ultimate desire to wring their neck.

I returned to Paris begrudgingly, my newfound future lying right before my eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I'm gonna go ahead and admit this is cheesy as hell but when I had the idea, I knew I had to do it. Kinda surprised nobody beat me to this already, haha. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! This is the beta, so I may be editing this heavily later on, but so far I'm pretty content with it. And the title may be temporary, I'm being indecisive about it.
> 
> This is gonna be a short one, at least 7-10 chapters. But it may end up longer, who knows. Life is a little crazy right now but I'll be working on this as much as I can, I hope to have it finished by the end of the summer. Stay tuned!


	2. Blissful Punishment

It took many hours of a slow walking pace until I returned to the de Chagny chateau. I was entirely reluctant to return to that accursed place at all, but whenever I doubted going there, that white-hot pain would flow through my chest once again until I finally formed my resolve. It was an odd sensation, to function as a slave to an otherwise invisible being. I could only wish for something that existed on the same plane as me to do me the favour of putting me out of my misery. Or at least to explain _what on earth happened to me_.

I spend the entirety of the night walking to the de Chagny villa, for my wings were still not co-operating after the tumble during that fiasco. A fiasco that I still had no explanation to, much to my annoyance. However, returning to the villa at the crack of dawn gave me a satisfied feeling, knowing that I would be able to see my precious Christine once again. True, I did want to leave her be and move on, but it seemed that fate, or the God I didn't believe in, had other plans for me. For us.

Letting myself pass through the front entrance this time now that I knew I had the ability to do so, it was strange to enter the foyer just to realize Christine wasn't there. Of course she wasn't, I knew she couldn't sit there reading her book day in and day out. That would have been silly. I pondered quickly over where she may be. With Raoul, that was my first conclusion. I knew not if he remained in the room with the balcony or if they may have switched to a different room. There was time enough for me to explore the entirety of the chateau, which was more of a nuisance to me due to the sheer size of the building.

I entered the familiar room with the balcony first, finding it empty. I had forgotten there was only a single bed in there, and obviously that would not have suited the engaged couple each night. Raoul and Christine had a new room, and now the trouble was to find it. There were six rooms in total on the upper floor, that I could see from the foyer. Most were empty, some contained sleeping housekeepers, and the final room I found was exactly where I needed to be.

Upon entering through the closed door, I discovered a snoozing Raoul passed out on one side of their rather enormous bed. Christine had left him there, and she was sitting on the windowsill in her nightgown, in silence. She was watching the sunrise, and I released a breath I only noticed I had been holding. It was breathtaking to see her again, once more in her content state. My burdens were released to see her this happy. I could see a faint smile forming on her face as I approached her, and sat on the other side of the windowsill. Despite the fact that she could never know I was in her presence, I felt joy in simply being able to sit beside her as if nothing had changed.

There was a peaceful moment of silence shared between myself and Christine. She stared out through the window as I gazed at her. My mouth was agape just from watching her, and my golden eyes trailed the way the rising sun reflected against her chocolate curls. She was breathtaking, and I watched solemnly as she pushed stray locks from her face. She pulled her attention away from the window, and the joy I felt quickly turned bitter once I realized she was focusing now on Raoul, who made a groan as he woke up.

“Morning, my dear,” Christine was beaming, and she jumped from the windowsill to greet her betrothed. My chest clenched and I gripped the frame below the window in an attempt to control myself. I tried to focus on the rising sun that shined into the room, but I was far too distracted.

Raoul responded with a groan and a muttered 'morning' that I could barely hear, and I watched in loathing as he brushed his caramel locks from his face. Christine gave him a peck on the cheek, and at that I forced myself to look away. It was amazing how I could go from complete bliss to absolute rage in the span of seconds. Not that it was my own doing.

“Excited for today?” Christine chirped, running over to the other window in the room, ripping the curtains open. I enjoyed Raoul's cry of terror at the sudden brightness that filled the room, but then my mind wandered to what Christine had said. What was today? I didn't want to think about what she meant, but I had an idea.

Raoul plopped back down against the sheets, “Give me a moment to contain my absolute _joy_.”

He was leaning now against the wall on their bed, running a hand down his face as Christine went to sit beside him. She pulled up to Raoul's side and rested her head against his shoulder, and I saw the look of joy he gave her. I had to pull my attention away from them again. I felt like a sick pervert, watching the two fawn over each other. I could not bear to watch, and yet I could not look away.

“It's a beautiful morning,” Christine sang, her voice cheery. She was playing with Raoul's fingers, and he leaned down to give her a peck on her forehead.

“The perfect day for our wedding,” he grinned.

 _I knew it_.

My stomach flipped itself over. I felt sick. Surely this was my own punishment, to be forced to witness their union while I existed beyond the plane of mortal men. My disgust turned to rage, and my rage transformed into despair. I could hardly bear to stay in that room any longer. I rushed to the exit, averting my eyes from the two, desperate to leave. Just as I did so, the door rang with a knock from the other side. Raoul called for them to enter.

One of the housekeepers entered the room, “Sir, if Mademoiselle Daae is ready, it's time to prepare her for the ceremony.”

I glanced from the housekeeper to where Christine lay, who gave a curt nod and rose away from the bed to follow. Raoul watched Christine leave in silence, and I could only stand where I froze, my mind wavering with various thoughts.

I only barely listened to Raoul rise from their bed, muttering to himself, “I ought to prepare myself too...” his voice was still groggy with sleep.

Once he had left the room, my body unhinged itself and I collapsed to the floor in my rage and grief. I caught my tears pooling from my eyes despite my wish to stop them, but it was far too difficult. I knew this day would come, but I did not expect I would be forced to witness it. I _told_ them to marry each other, hoping that they could be happy. I had managed to die in the two weeks since I gave them these orders, and if everything had gone right, I would not be here. I would still be laying peacefully in my home under the opera, with no knowledge of any of this. At this point, I knew that there was some higher being toying with me, forcing me into the darkness pit of despair.

I quickly brushed the tears away, trying to compose myself. Crying over her would do nothing now. It was too late for me to win her back, too late for us to share a life together. There must have been some reason for me to be here, some ultimate purpose. But _what_? I hadn't a clue.

Christine was still young, she still had a lifetime ahead of her. Maybe my entire reason of existing on this strange plane was to watch over her. Rather than a curse, maybe this was a gift. It was too soon to tell. There was still much to learn.

Ultimately, I decided to venture from that room I had been left in. Upon leaving, I glanced around the foyer to see the villa buzzing with dozens of maids and housekeepers rushing from room to room. It was clear that a wedding was in preparation. I could smell a pleasant aroma of pastries wafting in from the kitchen downstairs. I noticed a group of women decorating the villa with bouquets and bows. There was every reason for anyone viewing this to feel joy, but all I felt was betrayal.

I stepped down to the lower level, my form passing through several maids who rushed upstairs. I ignored all of them, only seeking out Christine. This chateau was much larger than I anticipated, but it was to be expected of a bourgeoisie family. The de Chagny family were some of the wealthiest in Paris, it was only natural for them to have an unnecessarily large home.

While in my search for Christine, I caught Raoul alone in a small room downstairs. He was fitting himself into his tailcoat. He pulled a comb through his locks of gold, and another fit of rage boiled within me. I didn't think there would ever be a time where seeing Raoul would not infuriate me, to be perfectly honest. My hands were itching to wring his pretty little neck to save Christine from marrying this fool.

That was, until I recalled my inability to interact with the mortal world, and I gave Raoul a look of contempt he couldn't see before rushing away. I could only hope that my proximity to him would cease soon, as I don't think my temper could stand being around him longer than was necessary.

Moving on, I roamed the lower corridors in a desperate search for Christine. I honestly wasn't sure _why_ I felt such a strong need to find her, to see her again. She was busy, I knew. A wedding ceremony was a tremendous preparation. Yet, it felt as if she was evading me. This was impossible, I knew, for she had no knowledge that I existed and was in her home, but it felt strange that she escaped me.

While wandering through the bustling kitchen hallway a third time, I spotted a handmaiden carrying a white veil decorated against a crown of roses and orange blossoms. She rushed past me, heading to where I had just come from, and I instantly followed. The woman went up a spiral flight of stairs at the end of the hallway I had not previously noticed, and headed into a room that seemed secluded from the rest of the house. There were no rooms surrounding it, there was nothing around it but another hallway and the same spiral staircase.

The handmaiden left the door open, and with one glance, my emotions rushed into joy, as I saw what I had been searching for. Christine was in her wedding gown, with a handful of handmaidens stitching final touches to her dress.

The gown she wore was gorgeous, I spent a moment to admire it. After making a wedding dress for Christine myself, it was easy to admire fine craftsmanship when I had seen it. Actually, after studying it for a moment, the gown looked... almost exactly like the one I made. This was strange, I knew she didn't keep it. It had the same shape, with a large bow on the top of the back bustle. Her sleeves went halfway down her arms and were met with three layers of ruffles. The skirt had several layers of ruffles that overlapped each other, and all of it was made with similar white satins and silks to the ones I used. It was marvelous to see my work honoured in this way. I couldn't help but wonder how Christine managed to get such a perfect replica.

I now paid my attention back to the beautiful bride-to-be. She was facing away from me, looking into a mirror. I thought she might have been overjoyed on her wedding day, but her expression was melancholic, and she was silent. The handmaidens were bickering amongst themselves over the dress and the ceremony itself, almost as if Christine wasn't even there.

“Here's the veil,” the handmaiden I had followed pronounced, setting the piece on the neck of an empty dress form, “only just finished it. With the short notice, I'm amazed it's finished at all.”

Christine nodded her acknowledgment, still silent.

“Two weeks is not nearly enough time to make a wedding happen,” another handmaiden said, as she clipped some lose strings.

“She has a point,” another one spoke, this one poking and prodding at Christine's gown, “mademoiselle, if you don't mind my asking, why on _earth_ could you and Monsieur Raoul not wait?”

They all looked to Christine, expecting an answer. She gave a curt shrug, “We, uh... we made a promise. That's all.”

“To each other?”

A moment of hesitation, “I—Yes, that's it.” She gave them a short laugh, and they dropped the topic.

At this, a wave of guilt swept through me. I asked for Christine to marry that boy. I had asked for them to send me an invitation, which they did, but I never had any intention to go. But now, there was nothing I could have wanted more than to be here while I was still alive. It was too late now, for I had died before they could be wed. It was my fault now that they were rushing this event that was supposed to be the most important of their lives. They didn't seem prepared for this in the least, and it was all because of me.

I approached Christine cautiously, ignoring the handmaidens that scurried about. My attention was completely on her. She continued to stare blankly into the mirror, her eyes glazed over in deep contemplation. It was disturbing to see her acting this way hours before marrying the man I knew she loved.

I was now right beside her, watching her expression through the mirror before her. At first, she was fine, but then her suddenly eyes lit up in horror and she turned her entire body to face me directly. My breath caught in my throat. She was staring directly at me and our eyes had met. Was she somehow able to see me? Were my wishes coming to fruition?

No, that wasn't the case. For her look of terror was replaced by confusion, and her brows furrowed. She switched back to her old pose once one of the handmaidens cursed her for moving and messing up a stitch. I could see that Christine was shaky now, and she was eyeing the mirror carefully. She seemed to be watching me through it, but I knew that was impossible.

I felt now that my presence was no longer needed, and so I left the room to wait outside for Christine to finish. There was nothing to do but wait, and ponder. I couldn't help but wonder what her reaction may have been about. If she was able to see me at one moment, but I was invisible the next... how could that be? This didn't make the slightest bit of sense.

Little did I know that there was much yet to learn.

***

Several hours passed before the ceremony finally began.

Once Christine finally left that isolated room, being guided by the handmaidens, I rose from my sitting position on the floor to follow after her. They passed down the empty hallway, the opposite direction from the spiral staircase leading to the kitchens. Eventually, they reached a grand ballroom, and Christine was commanded to wait there while the other women ran off into the ballroom. Absentmindedly, I went to stand at Christine's side as she waited patiently. I could see her shaking.

The ballroom doors opened quite suddenly, and a burst of music exploded from the room. I watched as Christine shook her nerves away, and confidently stepped down the red carpet that lay in the centre of the room. I followed her cautiously, glancing around at her surroundings. While it was a ballroom, it was nothing enormous or extravagant. Frankly, there weren't very many people at the ceremony. It appeared to be mostly Raoul's family, for I knew that Christine had none. I was certain that there were also a few dozen family friends who probably didn't know or care about Christine, but came just to show off.

At the altar, I saw Raoul waiting, with a ridiculous grin on his face. Once Christine reached him, her previous expression of melancholy had changed, and she looked like she had been filled to the brim with joy. The way I wanted her to be.

I caught myself stopping halfway down the aisle, as the speech from the priest had already begun. My mind was swimming. Part of me felt delight at seeing my Christine like this, and the other part was seething jealously and rage. All I could think of now was what could never be. Even if I was lucky enough to marry Christine, I could never give her a wedding as ornate as this, as she deserved. I had wished to marry her in the Madeleine Church, and now my mind was comparing that immaculate building to this dingy little ballroom. It wasn't fair. Raoul easily had the funds to give her more than this.

My mind erupting with flames, I turned to storm from the room just as they began exchanging their vows. This was all too much to bear. It was too painful to watch her be married to that foolish boy. I _loved_ and _ached_ for her _so much_. I wanted nothing more than to touch her, to so much as interact with her. I could never have her, especially not now, everything was pointless. _Pointless_.

I fell in a heap just in front of the ballroom doors, my wings curling around me as I tried not to go into another pathetic fit of crying.

***

Hours passed, and I remained there. My overemotional reaction had calmed down by this point, and I was sitting against the wall listening to the ongoing commotion. My mind was sluggish, all I could do was gaze at the floor and mindlessly watch the guests come and go into the ballroom as they had their celebration. I listened to everything. Christine and Raoul were finally married, just as I wanted them to be two weeks ago. Everything was different now. It was difficult to accept, but I had to. If not for my own sake, I needed to do it for Christine's.

As these thoughts perturbed my mind, I paid little attention to who came into the ballroom. I was sitting right by the entrance, so I had a clear view of every individual who passed by, but I wasn't paying attention to each individual person. All of them were petty bourgeoisie with their pale skin and their fancy frocks, and I was not concerned with them. But suddenly, someone who clearly did not belong there passed by. He wore an outfit that fit the occasion, but from his dark skin and dark hair that was topped with an astrakhan cap, I instantly knew who he was.

“Daroga!” I wasn't sure why I shouted. I knew he couldn't hear me. I rose from my spot on the floor, following him intently.

He approached Christine and Raoul who were sitting quietly with Raoul's two older sisters. I listened in on the last bit of their conversation.

“It's a shame Philippe couldn't be here tonight,” one of his sisters spoke as she swirled her wine glass.

“I wish he could have,” Raoul gave a soft sigh.

“Did you ever find out how he died?” his other sister, this one with a bun in her hair, asked cautiously, keeping her voice down.

Raoul paused, and I saw the apprehension that flashed through his eyes. “No, I—“

He was interrupted when the Daroga approached the table, giving a short greeting to the newlyweds. Raoul's two sisters gave the Daroga a pair of raised eyebrows and a scowl. Rage was building up in me with the way those two girls were reacting to my only friend.

“Might I help you?” Raoul's sister with the wine glass inquired.

Raoul interrupted her immediately, “You... you're the Persian, aren't you? Erik's friend?”

“Erik?” Raoul's other sister gave him a puzzled look.

“You two, if you'll excuse us, we need to speak with him,” Raoul stood from the table, and Christine followed suit. The Daroga led them into a secluded corner of the room, and I did was tagging along closely. It was fortunate that my curiosity would get the better of me.

“First of all,” the Persian began, “congratulations on your union. Unfortunately, the only gift I have is one you may not want.”

“What do you mean?” Christine asked. Through the corner of my eye, I caught her running her hand along my ring that remained on her finger.

The Persian gave a deep sigh, “I hate to tell you this, but... Erik is dead.”

My chest ached. Christine gasped and covered her mouth, tears pricking at her eyes. Raoul watched her in concern, but he did not give a similar reaction.

“You're sure of this?” Raoul inquired, letting Christine bury her face in his shoulder.

The Daroga nodded, “I was with him when he died. I'll be burying him underneath the opera, tonight. I would ask you both to come, but it is your choice. I'm sorry to bear bad news on this important day for you two.”

Raoul shook his head, “No, no, it's quite alright... we'll be there, won't we, Christine?” Her only response was a swift nod.

The Persian gave a soft smile and a short bow, “Thank you both. I will see you tonight.”

Raoul nodded, and I watched as the Daroga left without another glance. Turning back to watch Christine, my heart ached at the despair in her eyes. I felt loved, knowing that they both cared enough about me to visit me once more. There was little that could do for me now, however.

***

I waited outside for their ceremony to end, and when it finally did, Christine and Raoul left the chateau just as the sun was beginning to set. I watched every family member and friend that had been in attendance whisk themselves away by carriage. It was silent now, and there was a sense of a calm after the storm. I noticed that they had changed from their wedding attire to one that was mostly dark, and a twinge of guilt ran through me. Thanks to me, they were forced to end their wedding day with a funeral. They deserved better than this.

I followed them meekly as they ordered a carriage to take them to the opera house. Placing myself on the roof of the device, there was little effort coming from me to keep close to them. I faced the direction opposite where the carriage went, watching as the sun set beneath the horizon. It took about an hour for us to reach the Palais Garnier, and the driver was perplexed on why we needed to arrive on the Rue Scribe side of the theatre rather than the main entrance.

“Are you sure this is correct, monsieur?” their driver questioned them, giving them both a furrowed brow. Raoul was slightly irritated.

“Yes, this is correct. Now please, wait for us at the main entrance,” Raoul helped Christine out of the carriage and was shooing the driver away.

“Very well,” he grumbled, driving off.

I followed the newlywed couple into the Rue Scribe entrance that led directly to where the underground lake was. It was a secret entrance that only I knew about, but I had previously given them the key that let them enter. There was a lone lantern hanging for them by the entrance, which Raoul took and he began guiding their way down into the cellars. When they finally reached the lake, they spotted my boat sitting calmly on the edge, waiting to be used. Someone had left it there, as it was already tied up. They clambered inside, and Christine held onto the lantern as Raoul rowed them towards my home beneath the opera.

I was shocked to see them so silent. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since arriving, and they both seemed incredibly anxious. It must have been terrifying to be back down here after the horrors I put them through. Still, it's not like I was going to rise from the grave to torment them further.

The Daroga was there to greet them once they finally reached my house on the end of the lake. “Thank you for coming,” his tone was soft, and there was a calm sadness looming in his normally bright, jade eyes. Raoul and Christine nodded, helping the Daroga set the boat on the bank so it wouldn't float away.

“I've prepared him already. You don't have to look at him if you don't want to. The mask isn't on, after all.”

I saw Christine's throat clench.

“I think we'll be fine, right, Christine?” Raoul encouraged her, running his hand along the length of her arm. She nodded anxiously.

“Down this way.”

The couple followed after the Daroga, and I followed them. A mixed rush of emotions swept me. Watching my own funeral was not something I, or anyone on this earth, would expect to be able to do. Honestly, I was uncertain if I wished to take part. For the time being, I would remain a cautious observer.

The Daroga led them through the entirety of my home, and I caught myself glancing around. Oddly, the mess I left behind had, for the most part, been cleaned. The floors were clear now of torn pages and the furniture I knocked over had been returned to their original positions. Daroga must have cleaned the place up after I died, and guilt swam through me again. He didn't have to do that... the foolish booby.

We went through the home, reaching the area that lay behind it, next to the old well. I froze when I saw the coffin I used to sleep in sitting there beside an empty hole. My mind was swimming, seeing my body sitting there... as if everything was okay. As if I had finally gained the peaceful rest I so deserved, as if I wasn't trapped in this curse of an afterlife. Everything had fallen apart, and I couldn't so much as share my suffering with another. I was truly alone now.

But when I looked at Christine, I felt calm again. I watched the way she was looking at the dormant casket. She was eyeing it softly, droplets pricking at her eyes. The hand that was still holding my ring brushed lightly against the polished wood, and in that moment... I knew that I would be fine. Christine was here, with me. She could not see me, true, but I knew that she still cared for me just from those simple movements. If I was with Christine, there was nothing else I needed.

“Would you like to see him?” the Daroga reached for the lid of the coffin, awaiting a response.

_Please, no. Don't let her see me like this._

Raoul gave an indifferent shrug, letting Christine answer. She paused, and after a moment, she nodded. The Daroga pulled the lid off, and I lost the ability to breathe. The tears that Christine were holding back finally let loose, and I watched helplessly as she cried over my corpse.

Rushing to stand beside her, my hands reached out to touch her, but it was useless. They could only phase through. Then, she looked down to her hand. To the ring I gave her. Giving out a shaky breath, she pulled the golden circlet from her finger. She took my body's hand, and slipped the ring onto my finger, the same one she had just worn it on. I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

“Erik...” she murmured, shaking her head, “I'm sorry.”

Raoul had his arms around Christine now in comfort, and she obliged, burying her face in his chest. The Daroga was silent, and he lifted the lid back to cover me. Mindlessly, I went to touch my cold hand where the ring lay, forcing my own emotions from overwhelming me.

“I know not what words to say for him,” the Daroga was speaking, possibly to himself, “I am not a Christian man, and neither was Erik. I don't think he would want us to read from a book that means nothing to him.”

Raoul nodded in agreement. Christine was silent, her tears starting to dry away.

“Raoul, if you could help me,” the Daroga went to lift one side of the coffin, and Raoul nodded as he shifted to assist.

It was at this point that I had to turn away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter proved more difficult for me to write than the first one, I apologize if it seems to go everywhere! Erik is having many indecisive actions and emotions at this point in the story, but I promise he'll calm down soon. Overall this has been a difficult story for me to write; I don't normally write first person or with this little dialogue, so it's been a challenge! Bear with me as I'm still figuring it out, haha. 
> 
> Huge shoutout to ffnet user ArtistForever for giving me a great idea for something that was shown a little bit in this chapter that will be elaborated on later in the story. Thank you again!
> 
> And thank you so so much for all the kudos and kind reviews I've already received! I wasn't sure what to expect what the readers might think when I posted this, but it's been very positive so far and has really help keep me motivated to finish this project, so thank you all!!
> 
> Next chapter should be up soon!


	3. Legacy

 

I had hoped my imprisonment by Christine's side had ended, but when I tried to force myself from leaving the Opera with her, that shot of pain rang through me again. Thus, I followed her and her husband back the de Chagny villa, albeit begrudgingly.

The funeral ended quietly. I had hidden myself by the mirror in the Louis-Philippe room while waiting for them to finish. Watching my uncovered, perfectly normal face was somehow comforting to me despite the horrors I was facing otherwise. Maybe it was simply the inner joy I felt at having the face I always cursed fate for denying me. Yet, only being granted this gift after my death was enough to spark another fit of rage within me. Nothing I desired would ever come to fruition in the way I had hoped, it seemed.

I did not wait to see where the Daroga may have went after his mourning. Raoul and Christine left the house together, but I did not see the Daroga leave, and I certainly did not wish to venture back outside by the well. The thought alone forced my innards to constrict in repulsion. Knowing where my body had been laid to rest was bizarre and also agonizing, and I promised myself I would never go near that soil again. Fortunately, if Christine stayed away from this place, then that was something I could easily do as well.

Regardless, I was curious now what future lay before me. Raoul and Christine were officially married now, and I just... existed. When in actuality, I was a being that did not truly exist. My own immortality was beginning to set itself in my mind, and I grew anxious the more I considered it. If I was bound to Christine, I could only imagine I would have to watch her during the remainder of her life. There was also the knowledge that she would not live forever... what was I to do then? I need not think of it now.

What a cruel fate it was, to watch my beloved continue on without me. I knew that after enough years, she too would forget I existed. That was what happened when someone died. That's how it's always been. The dead do not stay fresh in memory, they are mourned over, only to be forgotten. Especially for someone like me. I had an isolated life, and the Daroga was my only friend. My mother was the only woman I knew before Christine, and she had been dead for twenty years by that time. Even in Persia, where I was a renowned magician, they've believed me to be dead for thirty years.

I was gone now, a prodigy who would never be remembered.

***

Upon returning to the de Chagny chateau, it seemed that I was not the only one uncertain about the future. Once they were alone in their room, or, they thought they were alone, the newlyweds had their own discussion of that sort. I sat upon the windowsill as I listened, not really caring much to do so.

“We have nothing to fear, now that he's dead,” Raoul brought up. They had been talking about me since they arrived here. I felt flattered.

“I still don't feel safe, here... in Paris,” Christine said, and I could see a wave of anxiety all over her face, “I would like to leave, Raoul.”

“Leave?” Raoul was looking concerned now, “Where could we possibly go?”

Christine gave a graceful shrug, “Back to where we met, in Normandy. Or where I lived in Gothenburg, maybe. Oh, but I don't want to drag you into anything that you—“

“No, no, Christine, I'll go with you, wherever you want!” Raoul preached, cupped his hands around Christine's, “If you want to leave... begin a new life... I'll stay with you, I swear this.”

I scoffed.

Christine was silent for a moment, until she finally sighed in joy, “That means so much to me, Raoul. I'd like to leave this place... start over, if you will.”

“Of course, if that's what you wish.”

She nodded, glancing over to where I was sitting, but I think she was just gazing outside instead, “This city has become so familiar to me, but now, I feel shadows... everywhere.”

“Shadows?”

“I feel like I'm being watched, constantly. It might be nothing, but... oh, I don't know.”

If I was alive, I'm sure I would be sweating profusely at this moment.

Shock rang through me at this new information. Though indirect, she could feel my presence. I felt awful for her being frightened of me, however. That was anything but my intention.

They had a moment of silence, and Christine was twirling her fingers with Raoul's as she gazed out the window. Raoul was looking off, like he was consistently coming up with a new conversation starter, only to drop it every five seconds and come up with another. Finally, he broke the tension.

“Let's go to Sweden, then,” he was grinning at Christine's startled reaction, her eyes wide.

“Really?” she was overjoyed.

Raoul nodded, taking Christine's hands in his, “We can leave as soon as you wish.”

She made an overwhelmed noise and pulled Raoul into an embrace. I had to look away, my eyes turning over to glance through the window.

If I was to stay with Christine, I needed to grow accustomed to their affections. However... it would always be painful.

***

Raoul was true to his word in that they could leave as soon as possible. The morning after they made their plans to escape France, he spoke to his servants of arranging their departure. The servants, of course, were concerned, as Raoul was now the head of the de Chagny family since his brother's death. There was no way he would be permitted to leave the country on a whim just to leave the chateau behind.

Nevertheless, the couple was determined. In only a month, Raoul and Christine managed to have everything they needed sorted out. Raoul was even able to convince the servants that he would return, but I could tell that he was lying through his teeth. It was amusing still to see that foolish boy trick these people so easily. I was almost proud of him. Almost.

Naturally, when they left the country, I had to follow. It was bizarre and almost bittersweet for me to leave my home country behind, but traveling was something I longed for while in this immortal state. If I had not been bound to Christine, I knew I would be exploring the world instead of following her around like a dog.

As it had been over a month since my death, I had begun to come to term with this cruel existence. I was still angry, yes, and I still felt betrayed by fate and Christine both. However, I understood now that there was nothing I could do but play along to this game set out before me. I did not know yet if this angelic form of mine was a gift or a curse from a god I did not believe existed. That was the only answer I sought.

I had calmed down considerably in the past month, which for someone like me with a short fuse, was an accomplishment in itself. I spent most of my time with Christine, naturally. She spent her time in the de Chagny chateau either reading or singing. No words could describe the joy I felt whenever she would sing. That old yet familiar feeling of both pride and sheer happiness would ride within me whenever I listened to her sweet tones. If this existence was a curse, her voice was a blessing.

***

We arrived to Sweden within the week, by a boat that sailed from Le Havre all the way to the small village of Visby, on the island of Gotland. I was perplexed as to why we ended up in this tiny town, when I had expected to visit Gothenburg on the other side of the country. I had hoped this was a temporary location, but when I watched Christine and Raoul buy a little home near the ocean, I wasn't so sure anymore.

At this, I grew furious. Christine was an incredible opera singer with the most beautiful voice in all of France. She could have been the star of Paris. Even in the country of Sweden, I was sure she could astound the world of opera despite her unfamiliar environment. Her voice was _that_ good.

But here? There was nothing here, barely any people. It was an old medieval village that had more historical edifices than a population. There was no opera house, no place for Christine to show the world the talent she held. I felt as if all the effort I took to train her voice was for nothing. She had thrown away a promising career by coming to this dainty little town.

For weeks I watched as the two decorated the home along the sea, my heart aching more and more each day for them to declare it as a joke and to go somewhere meaningful. But every day, my heart would sink when I realized that was not the case. I couldn't even gather _how_ this decision was made... was there a conversation between them that I missed? I remembered that Christine mentioned wanting to return to Gothenburg where she lived with Doctor Valerius, so _why_ were we _here_?

In time, Christine finally answered this burning question for me.

It was not until four months after the couple had settled in this quaint little village that both myself and Raoul learned that Christine was with child. _She was going to have a child._ Raoul and I were on equal levels of shock, but I had been more on the concerned spectrum. Having a child could be dangerous, especially for a woman living so far away from actual civilization. There surely was a doctor living in Visby, but there were still several items that could go wrong once she was ready for the child.

I was surprised at myself for not feeling envy against Raoul for Christine bearing his child.

“You're certain?” Raoul was flabbergasted once he learned of this.

She had reassured him about four times now, “ _Yes_ , Raoul, I'm positive.”

“We... should we see a doctor, or? Oh, goodness,” he stood abruptly and was running his hands through his hair as he was grinning delightfully, “Christine! We're... going to be parents!”

Christine nodded and took his hands in hers, “I know, Raoul. Aren't you glad?”

“You've no idea.” He stole a kiss from her immediately.

I was left to stand there against the doorway, my eyes spinning back as I groaned. I wasn't at all prepared for the months of Raoul acting as a sap that I knew I would have to deal with from now on. Months, no, that was an understatement. Knowing him, he would stay like this for years to come, especially as I'm sure they would have more children.

I felt envious every time I saw him look at her with such delight, his bright cobalt eyes rushing down to her stomach. He would speak like a doting father to the child-to-be, practically caressing Christine's stomach with his soft hands. Raoul had something that I could never. A child was not something I necessarily _wanted_ , but even if I did, I would never have the privilege to have one. The face I had been cursed with in my life would always prevent me from such a gift. The rage and jealously within me tugged at my heart every single time I saw the two look so excited for their child... and I knew my time with them would forever be changed when that child was finally born.

***

Within the next five months, it had become even more evident the couple would never leave the pathetic little town of Visby. Despite having a massive fortune, Raoul and Christine began to _work_ in the village. I never found out why they decided to, when they had all the money they could need. Raoul was home less often, as he earned a job at sea, where he scoured the Swedish waters for fish and crustaceans. He was payed decently enough, and constantly brought seafood on the table more often than anything else for their dinners.

While I was still irritated at Christine for throwing away her career in opera, I was overjoyed that she continued to sing. Even better, she became a voice instructor to anyone who was willing to learn. She had a small class of six, and she would meet with them twice a week. Four of them were young adults who worked other jobs in the village, but always had a passion for the arts, and the other two were teenagers looking for something to do. They loved her, and I found myself sitting with the students and watching their growth every time they had their classes.

Even in this lonely state of being, music would always be my light in the dark abyss. I loved music more than I even loved Christine. Hearing her voice daily, and watching her become what I was to her, filled me with nothing short of joy. This curse of an afterlife was beginning to feel less like a prison every time her voice filled my spirit.

As mentioned before, it now had been five months since Raoul and myself learned of Christine being with child. It was late autumn now, and I could tell from the lump that had formed in Christine's stomach that she was close to having her child. I was both ecstatic and terrified for her sake.

Christine had been on close surveillance by the local doctor, Dr. Nilsson, ever since five months ago, for it seemed she was having some complex problems with the child. Her health had depleted considerably, and I was terrified of what may happen to her. Raoul, too, was deeply concerned. He spent all of his time away from work caring for her every need. When Raoul was gone, I would fill in his part as she rested. I remained by her side constantly, and though my physical form passed through, I would keep my hands on hers. If I truly was a magical, angelic being, I knew I had to protect her.

On a rainy evening at the end of October, Christine began to have her child. Anxiety filled me to the brim as I saw her screaming and crying from the pain. Fortunately Raoul was home that day, but he still had to bring Dr. Nilsson over for there to be a safe birth. Panic shot through me, and all I could do was remain at Christine's side, letting my hand caress hers as Raoul was preparing his trip.

“Christine, please hold on, I'll be back as soon as I can,” he said as he held her hand for a moment, pressing a soft kiss. She could only nod, and she watched as Raoul rushed out of their home. I was left alone with her, watching her cry out in agony.

“Christine, shh, it's okay,” I knew she couldn't hear me, but I was desperate. I only wished for her to remain safe. I pressed my lips against her hand, but of course, I phased through her skin.

After I did so, her frantic breathing became more controlled, and she calmed down for some time. She was still clearly in pain, but instead of screaming her face was scrunched up in her discomfort. I wondered if my support had somehow affected her.

It took nearly an hour for Raoul to return, and I remained by Christine's side the entirety of that time. So far she had been fine, and had calmed down considerably, but her breathing starting to go frantic again just as Raoul arrived with Dr. Nilsson. He ordered Raoul to leave the room, telling him he was unnecessary, and then began to work on Christine. Raoul was flabbergasted, and was clearly unsure of what to do. He unwillingly pulled himself from the room, but I saw him remain by the door. Christine began screaming again, and I tightened my grip on her hand.

After several hours of listening to Christine's agonizing cries, the child was finally born. However, Christine was still in horrible pain. Dr. Nilsson immediately pulled his attention to Christine once he realized she was in pain. The doctor wrapped her child in a blanket, moving the infant aside as he then took some took and worked on Christine. I could see blood pooling onto the bed from where she lay, and my breath stopped.

Christine was dying.

Tears were pricking at my eyes, and I was unable to control the streams that followed. I saw in the corner of my eye that Raoul had slipped himself into the far side of the room, and he was also tearing up. Christine was still screaming, her hands clenching the sheets and her face covered with tears. A panic surged through me and my breathing was frantic.

 _No. No. This couldn't be happening. I would_ not _allow this!_

_Christine was going to live a long life. Even if I had to rise to the heavens and tie a noose around god's neck, I would make it happen._

My wings unfurled around myself and Christine, my black feathers puffing out in my rage. This ire was clearly visible in my wings, but my eyes were different. They were still pouring out streams of tears, and my breathing was ragged. I stood and hunched over Christine, stroking her cheek with my fingers.

“You will be fine, my dear,” I assured her, a smile forming from my thin lips. I then leaned down to press those lips against hers. They phased through, but I could feel the salty tears from her suffering that had dripped down. A bliss flew through me as I touched her, and I lifted myself away to watch her.

She was starting at me now, almost as if she heard and felt me. Golden eyes gazed into a pale blue, both sides with perplexed expressions. Without warning, Christine's eyes disappeared behind her lids, and she seemed to have fallen asleep.

“Christine!” Raoul screeched, rushing to her side until he was pushed away by Dr. Nilsson, who scolded him for entering the room. He shouted her name again and again, his eyes dripping from his exasperation. Dr. Nilsson rushed over to check her pulse, and he made Raoul stop.

“She's asleep, Herr de Chagny. She's fine now,” Dr. Nilsson explained in a calm tone. He explained to Raoul that it seemed that she was experiencing blood loss, but somehow the blood flow had stopped and there was no longer any fear of her death.

I released a breath that had lumped in my throat. I was so, so relieved.

My precious Christine would be fine. Tears formed again as I sobbed over her sleeping body, my heart ached with relief.

Suddenly, I had an epiphany.

After this experience, it was clear to me now that I _saved_ her. There was no other explanation for her miraculous survival. If I had not been here, she would have had a maternal death. Raoul, their child, and myself all would have suffered immeasurably had I not been able to save her life.

In a rush, I finally realized what this meant. What _all of this_ meant. I finally understood the reason I had been given this angelic form, the reason I was bound to Christine. I felt ridiculous for not having realized it for so long.

_I was her guardian angel._

That was a term I never thought about, nor did I believe anything of the sort existed in my atheist life. But now, everything was different, and I felt at peace knowing the true purpose of my existence.

In that moment, I swore to her sleeping form that I would protect her, and I would proudly do so. For all of the long lifespan I knew she would have, I would be there. Her angel of music would always be at her side.

***

Christine finally woke from her sleep after an agonizingly long hour. She was dazed, and her mind was hazy. Dr. Nilsson, Raoul, and myself were all there to greet her, and she smiled faintly when Raoul came to grab her hand.

“Christine, oh, I was so worried! How are you feeling, my love?” Raoul was beaming, his eyes glowing in joy.

Christine groggily sat herself up against the bed frame, still a little woozy, “Exhausted, but I feel fine,” she smiled softly at Raoul, then looked over at their doctor. “Where's our child?”

“Your son is with me,” the doctor declared, entering the room with the child wrapped in a blanket. “He's been cleaned, he's all yours now.”

“Son?” Raoul asked aloud, mostly to himself. He seemed overjoyed. Christine was as well, to a much lesser extent.

Raoul was handed the child, and his eyes were swelling at the sight. He brought him down for Christine to hold him next, and she was beaming. I had moved to the far side of the room, leaning against the wall, so I was not able to see the child. But hearing the couple's cries of joy, I knew he must have been beautiful.

“It's fortunate that I had been here,” the doctor was boasting, “or else that child would have no mother now.”

I glared at him. This foolish doctor was _surely_ the reason Christine almost died, and here he was acting as if he was actually useful. Since I couldn't tie a noose around his neck, I could only hope he would leave immediately.

Raoul wasn't having any of it, “Ah, yes, I'm sure,” he raised his brows to Christine, who suppressed a laugh, “You can leave now, monsieur, thank you.”

Dr. Nilsson huffed, striding from the room. Once I heard him slam the main door, I breathed out in relief. Raoul focused his attention back to the bundle in Christine's arms, and he frowned.

His voice sounded displeased, “Black hair?”

I felt the room grow still as if time itself had frozen.

Oh no. _Oh no._

The silence was immense. I could feel Raoul and Christine grow readily uncomfortable over the increasing tension that filled the room, and I found myself gaping at them.

There was something Christine was hiding from Raoul. Something that I knew, because it revolved entirely around me. Because it _was_ me.

Christine and I had lain together, some nights after I had freed her and Raoul from my chambers. She sought out the Daroga, and begged him to take her back to my lair, for she was not able to cross the lake by herself. I remember the Daroga describing this me after the entire exchange, and I was considerably shocked she was so successful in returning to me.

It was only for that night. She came to my chambers with the Daroga, and the two of us went to my mother's bed in Christine's old room. The Daroga remained in the Louis-Philippe room while we were absent. At first, our exchange was an apology. She tried to apologize to me, but I wouldn't let her, for I told her it was I who was wrong, and foolish. She then kissed me, but instead of just a chaste kiss followed by a goodbye, we continued. It wasn't until the deed had been done that either of us realized how foolish we were.

I had finally tasted the flesh of a woman, and she betrayed the man she had betrothed.

When she left that next morning, I had hoped it would be the end of that affair. I never imagined a child, _my child_ , to be born from that night.

Christine let out a dry laugh, “It probably just looks that way now, surely it may change!”

Raoul said nothing. I could see the tension in his throat. He was anxious and suspicious beyond belief. I didn't blame him. There was nothing good to be said when the child he believed to be his looked like me, the one man he could consider his rival. Agony was clear in his expression.

He forced his voice to function, and he pulled away to the far side of the room, “What shall we name him?”

Christine was the one to break the ice, “Erik.”

Raoul gave her a stupefied expression. My chest tightened, my knees buckled, and I nearly toppled over.

_Why. Why would she name the child after me._

“You would name our son after that _monster? Erik?_ I didn't agree to this, Christine.”

“Erik was not a monster, he was my mentor and my _friend,_ ” she threw back at him, her voice staying in a calm tone. I could see her throwing daggers at Raoul from the intensity in her eyes.

“I thought we agreed to name a son after your father,” Raoul had calmed down, and now he seemed to be controlling his emotions.

“I know, but I... changed my mind. I was going to tell you, but this happened before I could.”

They were silent again, and Raoul seated himself in a chair of the far corner of the room.

“Christine, be honest with me... did you make love to Erik?”

He was certainly to the point, I noted.

Christine was flabbergasted, and sputtered as she tried to answer. Raoul was watching her, until he finally gave a sigh.

“So you did. I see...”

“Raoul, it's not what you—“

“Not what I think?” he stood up, tears dripping from his blue orbs, “I thought you _loved_ me, Christine. What am I to make of this?” he sighed, running a hand through his ash blonde locks.

“I _do_ love you, Raoul. I loved Erik too, but not the same way I love you! Oh, it's so difficult to explain, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry,” Christine went to focus on their son, who began to scream just as she finished speaking. She cooed at the child to silence him, singing a short tune along the way.

She loved me in a different way than she did Raoul... I was perplexed. What exactly did she mean by that statement? I wished desperately to be able to ask her.

Raoul was silent again, his head pressed against the wall. Finally, he turned to gaze at his wife, “I'm sorry, too, for getting angry... I don't want to argue with you. Christine,” he returned to her side of the room, and gave her a chaste kiss, “I love you. But I need to be alone for a bit.”

She nodded solemnly.

Raoul turned to leave, but not before saying, “If you want to name him after Erik, I'm fine with that. He may not be _my_ son, but I will treat him as such.”

Christine beamed, and turned to gaze at the little Erik in her arms.

I was still sitting on the floor, my mind swimming with disbelief at the event I just witnessed. It was all so much for me to process: the fact that I had a son, my son was named after me, Christine still loved me... this was all both incredible and horrible. I felt enormous pangs of guilt for the child that belonged to me, for I was unable to care for him in his life. Or, maybe that was not true. I was a guardian angel after all... perhaps I was destined to guard over my son along with Christine. Maybe even Christine and Raoul's future children were my duty to watch over, as well.

Everything had changed, and yet remained the same.

I pulled myself off the floor, listening intently to Christine as she sang a soft tune to Erik. _Our son._ I looked down at the child who bore my resemblance, my heart swelling at his sleeping form. My voice rose and I follow the tune Christine was singing, our voices harmonizing.

My mind could only be thankful he did not share the same face as I did.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another difficult chapter for me to write;; fortunately I'm about halfway finished now. As I said before, this is a short fic. There will be four or five more chapters, we'll see. And I apologize if the pacing is a little off, I admit I rushed some of this one whoops
> 
> I had a lot of trouble deciding whether or not I should go the Kay route and give Erik a son. I ended up giving in, because I honestly love the concept when it's done right. I know it's not everyone's favourite thing but I'm giving it an attempt.
> 
> Yeah I really don't have much else to say about this chapter. Thank you so so much for all the reviews and kudos! All the kind words I've received have kept me motivated to finish this short story, thank you all so much!!
> 
> EDIT: I goofed up on some historical inaccuracies on this chapter, but I've gone ahead and fixed them! Thank you much to ArtistForever for helping me out with that!


	4. Shattered Dreams

The years went by, and as many things changed, others remained the same. I watched fervently as my son, my Erik, grew. He grew beautifully, having the same charcoal hair as myself and those shining, golden eyes. Christine adored him, and though Raoul was not as joyous as she, he was still tender towards Erik. I knew that Raoul felt an inner grudge against me for spending a night with his wife, and he therefore felt the same betrayal towards Christine. The couple did have problems in those first few months since Erik was born, but eventually they came to a stalemate. Raoul's negative emotions about the whole affair washed away when Christine learned she would have another child, when Erik had grown to four years of age.

Raoul was overjoyed beyond belief. I had never seen him look so happy the day Christine told him she was with child again. To my relief, she was much healthier this time around, and had no problems during her birth. However, I believe that was because they had only a midwife deliver the baby instead of that foolish doctor who didn't understand the female physique.

They named their new daughter Lucille. The girl grew to have the same ash blonde hair that her father had, but she gained a somewhat sour personality. I think it was because Raoul spoiled her so much for being his first child that she grew to have a temper, often throwing fits when she didn't get her way. Lucille would also tease Erik, mocking him for his bizarre hair and eye colours, saying that he didn't truly belong in the family. Another reason for me to feel guilt. However, I hated that girl. It was a fortune she was the only rotten apple in the bunch.

Two years after Lucille was born, Raoul and Christine had another daughter, Marie. She was much less spoiled compared to Lucille, and she ended up being a very sweet child. She earned her mother's chocolate curls and pale blue eyes, and frankly, was the spitting image of Christine. Marie was also a bit of a pushover and she would often side with Lucille when she decided to torment Erik. Therefore, I was not terribly fond of her, at first. It was not until Raoul and Christine had their third and final child that I finally enjoyed the presence of one of their children.

They named him Philippe, their first and only son. Raoul was the one who chose the name, insisting that they honour his elder brother in their son. In turn, Raoul spoiled him all the same. Fortunately, Philippe did not become a rotten child the way that Lucille did. He inherited Christine's brown locks, with the softness of his father's. Philippe was a very quiet, peaceful boy who spent most of his time alone, or with Erik. He and Erik grew very close as brothers, which was astonishing considering their eight year age difference. When he had grown older, Philippe often defended Erik from the harassment that Lucille would try to give him.

I did not think I would be, but I felt at home in Christine's Swedish villa. Staying here was quite pleasant, for a dead man. I had space to myself, and I would often hide out in the attic when I wished to be alone whenever they weren't using it. Swedish attics were strange, as they weren't used for storage, but for social gatherings. Whenever Christine and Raoul would bring their friends into the home, I would instead hide outside, enjoying the noise of the ocean. Staying in Visby was the first time I had ever been able to see the ocean daily. The ocean was not a place for a man who belonged underground.

Years passed peacefully. Christine became an even more successful musical instructor in the village, taking on more than a dozen students. She was a good mother to all of her children, and even Raoul had been a better father than I imagined. He continued to work at sea, so he was not often home. But when he was, I watched him make up for lost time with each of his children. He did everything he could for them.

In my spare time, of which I had plenty, I enjoyed Erik's presence. I was beyond proud to see him gifted with the same prodigy-level of intelligence as myself. He studied architecture, poetry, painting, writing... the only skill of mine he seemed to lack was music. Not that he was bad at music, he simply never bothered to learn it. I could not fathom this, considering that both of his parents were musicians. Christine offered him lessons several times, but he always gave her an indifferent shrug, telling her he would prefer not to.

Nevertheless, he accomplished much in his first few years. All the children had been schooled at home by Christine, but Erik was a prodigy. He had been far ahead the rest of his siblings, and often gained visits from Swedish institutions from the mainland offering him to attend their prodigious schools. He gave them little attention, saying he was happy where he lived. Having dealt with a similar situation in my youth, I related to my son's decision. Though I knew that if his face had been like mine, he would have had no choice but to stay.

I was proud of my son. I was proud of Christine. I may even have been proud of Raoul. My heart that could no longer beat swelled at this family I partially belonged to. Seeing them all together, I was proud of myself for giving Christine up, to let her live this life that she deserved.

Living here, as a ghost, I was... happy.

This was not a familiar sensation for someone like me.

***

After twelve years since they moved to Visby, the formula changed.

Christine, suddenly overcome with a wave of nostalgia, came to Raoul and told him she missed the life of opera that she left behind. My attention was immediately caught from this change of heart from her, and I was overjoyed. _Finally. My angel of music would become a star, just as she deserved to be._

Raoul wasn't convinced. “Where would we go, Christine? Can we really drop everything we have here for that?”

Christine bit her lip as she pondered over her husband's words, “Stockholm built a new opera house a few years ago. My students told me. It's... worth an attempt?” she gave him a shrug and smirk, but he still wasn't going to lean to her side.

“Our children, Christine. What about them?”

“What about them? They're perfectly capable of moving with us.”

Raoul groaned, “But there are the issues of their education, we would have to find schools for them... you wouldn't have time to teach them anymore. There's also where we would live, not to mention my line of work and—“

Christine pulled his face to hers for a chaste kiss. Raoul couldn't help but let a soft smile seep out as he took in her embrace. She pulled away first, holding his cheeks in her hands.

“We'll figure it out, my dear. We always do.”

Raoul sighed again, finally nodding, “Very well.”

I was more intrigued than anything else.

After all, this was what I had hoped for. Christine's voice was astounding; it was everything I had dreamed of hearing onstage. However, I was deeply concerned for her. She was not as young as she used to be, and with her years without proper training, even I could tell she had lost her touch. She still sang daily, especially with her students, but she was out of practice nevertheless. To try and gain back her promising career in opera, it would be very difficult. Opera was a cruel place filled with rejection, and it pained me to imagine how she may respond to it.

I was almost convinced she was unaware of this, until I learned otherwise. When around Raoul or her children, she spoke of returning to opera with enthusiasm and optimism. But when she was alone, I could see how anxious she really was. Her eyes screamed out of fear for her unknown future. I could admit, I was just as worried for her. She had a naïve spirit, even while middle aged, and being rejected for something she hoped so strongly for would break her.

Even knowing this, it only took two months for them to find somewhere in Stockholm to stay. Their old home was kept as a summer home, but also in the case if they had to return permanently. To be honest, I was positive they would have to. There was too much at stake with this move. Raoul had to leave his fishing work, and Christine left a dozen promising students behind. They were terribly upset, and I could feel the guilt that burned in Christine. I could tell she was already beginning to regret this.

***

I did not wish to follow Christine as she went to the opera, but I truly had no choice. Just the thought of staying home caused that age-old pain to begin swelling again. Raoul stayed home to watch over the children, and so it was just myself and Christine going to the Royal Swedish Opera, called the _Operan_ in Swedish. Seeing the Swedish opera, I was particularly unimpressed. The lackluster interior design and architecture of the building was nothing compared to the one in Paris. I suppose a small northern country did not care as much as the pompous Parisians did.

I followed Christine to the area backstage, where there were dozens of young women waiting for their time to audition. Christine was nervous beyond measure. I could see how her eyes darted around the room, the way she tied her sweating palms together. In a brief act of comfort, I placed a hand upon her shoulder.

I was shocked to see her calm down almost instantly.

When it was finally her turn to sing, I felt my chest ache.

“Christine Daae, is it?” a man who I assumed to be the Opera's director spoke to Christine, his eyes wavering above his half-moon spectacles, “It says here you'll be singing 'The Jewel Song' from Gonoud's _Faust_ , correct?”

“Yes.”

I could hear her voice break in that single word.

“Carry on, then.”

And so she did.

And so my skin seeped inside my chest and ripped my heart apart. She sang with her usual grace, and suddenly I could see the beautiful young soprano back in the Palais Garnier. Each syllable and each note floated from her lips gracefully. Her tone was a miracle of silk spun into gold. At its peak, her gorgeous voice breathed a new level of life back into me. It felt as if we were back in Paris, and I could feel my surroundings return to box five as I was surrounded by red walls. Christine was back on stage, spinning in joy as her vibrato reached to the audience, the stage lights dancing around her form.

After a gruff voice called out, “Enough!” the illusion shattered.

Her voice caught in her throat, and had been shut down.

The opera manager was glancing over his notes. He seemed displeased with her performance. _How dare he._

“How old are you, Christine Daaé?”

“Thirty-two.”

“When was your last performance?”

She hesitated, “In 1881... twelve years ago.”

“I see,” he glanced up at her, expression void from his face, “You have a lovely voice, but it sounds untrained, and not what we're looking for. I think you may fit in the chorus, but your voice needs more work.”

Glancing at her face, her blank stare forced my stomach to turn.

“I understand,” she spoke so low she was barely audible.

“We'll contact you at a later date. You may go.”

***

Christine spent the rest of the night sobbing in their bedroom. She had Raoul and the children leave her be, but I was there, with her. I had always been there, hadn't I?

She was slumped in a corner, her chocolate curls a tangled mess. I was sitting beside her, my wings wrapped around her frail form and I wished so desperately for my body not to phase through hers. My arms would have been wrapped around her if only I was able to interact with the world around me. All I could do was watch her helplessly, and after some time, I began to sing a soft tune for her.

It took several hours for her to calm down, until it was finally dark. When the crying ceased, she spent at least another hour staring blankly at the wall beside her. When her mind grew bored of that, she lifted herself off the floor and lit the candles in the room, standing before a mirror that took up half the wall in their otherwise tiny bedroom. I remained seated, watching as she continued to stand before the mirror and gaze blankly at her own reflection.

At this, I went to be by her side. I saw my own reflection in the mirror, something I did not understand, considering I did not truly exist. Or perhaps I did, in some form. For when I approached Christine, she jumped and backed away. Her eyes widened and her hand went to cover her mouth to keep from shrieking. I furrowed my brows at her odd behaviour.

She took slow, cautionary steps back to the mirror, “Who are you?”

I froze. No, no... what was this? _Could she see me?_ That was preposterous, for I was dead. I no longer existed in the same realm as she did.

She turned around to face me directly, testing to see if I was there. She still couldn't see me, I knew. For her eyes darted around in what she saw as blank space, searching. She spun back around to the mirror, her finger prodding at the reflective surface.

I decided to take my chances, and I obliged her. “Your angel of music.”

She shook her head, “I don't believe that. I had one once already, but I know he's dead,” she rubbed her temple with a sigh, murmuring to herself, “strange. You wear the same clothes Erik did.”

I nodded, but I knew it was difficult to recognize me without my deformity, “It is I, Christine. Your Erik is here.”

“Oh my god... Erik? No, I'm definitely having a dream. This is too much...”

“I swear to you this isn't a dream. Listen to me, Christine,” I stepped closer to the mirror, “It is true that I have died. My soul lives on now with you. I have been watching over you since my death.”

I could see my face shining brightly in the mirror, the happiness I felt was evident in my expression. Finally, after all these years in solitude, I was with Christine again. I was unable to touch her, but through this mirror, she could see me, and we could communicate. There was little more I could ever ask for. Joy was one of several emotions I was feeling in this moment.

She still didn't seem convinced, “I buried you, all those years ago. Returned your ring. I had hoped that would be the end of it, Erik.”

“Christine,” I placed my hand upon the mirror, and she glanced at it anxiously, “I wanted everything to end with my death. If a god truly exists, he gave me this afterlife for _your_ sake.”

She was silent, still glancing at my hand against the glass. Slowly, her hand rose to meet with mine. In her eyes, she was meeting with my reflection, but for me, her hand was phasing through my own. I exhaled carefully, my joy mingling with a fear of what may happen now.

“I saw you,” she spoke solemnly, “on my wedding day. All this time, I thought it was an illusion, or a hallucination, but...”

I had nearly forgotten that. I was just as perplexed as she had been that day, and now I understood. Mirrors seemed to be my one affinity, in both life and death. How ironic that something I once used to force others to end their lives would end up becoming my only window into the world of the living.

“Christine,” I spoke with an air of authority, and she pulled her hand away from the glass, much to my dismay, “You need lessons once again. I was there for your audition, and if you wish, I will tutor you once again... like old times.”

She paused. Her mind was evidently racing, and I was sure unpleasant memories were flooding through her. I didn't blame her. There was much that I did to her, and if she instead chose to shatter every mirror in sight just to keep me away, I would be content with that. I was a murderer and a liar, and I was not to be trusted.

Despite my fears, her face lit up and she nodded vigorously, “Very well, Erik, I accept your offer!”

I felt my cheeks heat up, and I rushed to cover them knowing I no longer wore a mask. She only laughed at my flustered reaction. Interacting with her like this, again... it seemed as if nothing changed.

***

With the passage of time, her voice finally returned. It took several weeks of vocal training, but her growth was evident. She worked so hard to get her voice back to how it was twelve years ago, and she was truly astonishing. Each night, after Raoul and the children had gone to bed, I would meet with her in the spare room of the home where we would practice. She had moved the mirror there just so I could interact with her, in a room that was otherwise nothing but storage.

Raoul had noticed, of course. I would see him rise out of bed at some times, and he would wander their temporary home just to find Christine sitting before a mirror by her lonesome. He was concerned, I could tell, but he never took any action.

There were several moments in which I noticed that only Christine was able to see me. Raoul even looked at me directly once while I was before the mirror, but he made no comment or action. I could understand why I only appeared to Christine, as I knew our spirits were already connected. Internally, I had hoped my son would be able to see me through the glassy surface, but he was never able to.

During the months of practice, there were several moments in which Christine wished to speak with me rather than focus on our lessons. I refused to admit it, but I enjoyed those moments most of all. She asked me so many questions. How I died and what happened to me took up most of them at first, but then she went on to ask me about the life I lived before we even met. Which was something I had refused to share back when we were in the opera house in Paris. It was not a pleasant topic, but I had nothing now to lose, so I indulged her.

There was one night when our conversation took a more intimate turn. Or as intimate as we could have been. With only one night shared between us, there was little for us to explore.

She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the glass. I sat opposite to her, in the same position. This was often how we sat during these late-night conversations.

“Do you remember, Erik? That night we spent together?” she spoke quietly, her naïve nature seeping through.

I forced a laugh, “I try not to.”

“Why?”

I shrugged, “It... was a foreign sensation for me.”

“We have a son, you know... because of that.”

I swallowed hard, nodding, “I know.”

“Yes, of course you know... I love him so much, Erik. Raoul did not, at first. I named him after you, but you probably knew that,” she paused, and I nodded to keep her going, “he reminds me of you. He's a genius. I hope... I hope you're proud of him.”

I smiled softly, tears threatening to drip from my eyes, “You've no idea, Christine.”

She grinned, nodding. I saw her cry all the same, despite her attempts to hold in her tears.

She sniffed, “I've missed you, Erik.”

I froze. I never expected her to hold any feelings such as that towards me. With all the horrors I had delivered to her doorstep, she still cared about my well-being. It was strange... save for the Daroga, I did not think there could ever be a soul who _cared_ for me. She even _missed_ me. I had to release a heavy breath before responding, for my mind was swimming.

“I... thank you, Christine. I've missed you as well.”

“You've been with me this entire time,” she laughed lightly.

I grinned, “True, but I missed... this. Singing with you, sharing time together.”

“If you had not died, I wonder what may have happened to us,” she seemed to be speaking half to herself, her eyes hazy as they gazed into empty space. I chose not to answer her. Mostly because I did not know, either.

“We'd best begin tonight's lesson, my dear.”

She nodded in agreement.

***

Finally, her second chance arrived. With three months of training her voice back to how it was twelve years ago, and then some, she was finally ready once auditions were once again open. That director never contacted her as he said he would, and so Christine returned to the opera voluntarily. This time, the entire family joined her, and I knew that their presence gave her an even greater boost of confidence.

Before they left, she came into that empty room hoping to see me. I obliged her.

“Will you be there, with us?”

“Of course,” I grinned at her reflection, “I'm always by your side.”

She was still anxious upon returning to the opera house in Stockholm, clearly still feeling unprepared for what may arrive. Raoul squeezed her hand whenever her nerves would force her to shake as if she was a tree caught in heavy wind. If I were able to, I would have easily done the same. When Christine went backstage, Raoul took himself and the children to the auditorium to view her performance. I stayed with her backstage, my hand resting against her shoulder.

Only three months ago, I was in her presence without her knowledge. For twelve years, I had done so. It was still difficult to believe she knew that I was here. That I was beside her, watching her... protecting her. I felt as if I had finally been freed from a hell I never asked for, and I was living in paradise. Christine knew that her angel of music was here, beside her, and there was little else I could ask for.

I watched with tears slipping from my eyes as she stepped onstage, ready to perform. She was just as exquisite as she has always been. Every time I witnessed her sing on the stage, I could feel my soul flutter with delight. Today was no exception.

The director of the opera, the same man as before, greeted her cynically, to my distaste. But once Christine projected her gorgeous voice into the auditorium, the man's displeasure shifted. He still did not seem entirely convinced, but he was less unenthusiastic as he had been previously. After her song, he clapped, much to my surprise.

“That was much better, Fru Daaé. We may have a position for you in our chorus.”

I froze, albeit for my hands that were trembling in my fury. _The chorus?_ Christine was no longer a chorus girl, she was _a star of Paris!_ She was worthy of any lead role that came her way!

Christine was unsettled, as well, “I... was looking for more than the chorus, sir.”

The director nodded, “Your voice is astounding, Daaé. However, your age... is a little too much for the lead of this new production.”

_Her age?_

My blood was boiling. I wished for nothing but to snap the neck of this foolish, _foolish_ man! Christine had the voice of a _goddess_ , she deserved more than the chorus!

As I stood there in my unbridled rage, the lights in the room began to flicker and dim. My wings were curling around me, their feathers unfurling themselves outward. The dozens of women waiting to audition were screeching, and the opera itself began to shake. Christine, I barely paid heed to her, but I saw her eyes darting around the auditorium in horror.

“Erik?” she whispered, just audible enough for me to hear.

The director was trying to ignore the strange events, “Listen, Daaé, there's nothing I can do for you. You have the choir, or nothing. Paris may take your talents, but I'm looking for something fresh.”

The lights finally went out, and several women screamed. Somehow, I was still able to see in the pitch black space. My wings beat against the floor, and I rushed to where the director was seated. I chuckled internally to see him shaking in terror, his clammy hands gripping the seat's armrests. Once I had reached him, my hands went around his neck. Amazingly, they did not phase through, but I had been too furious to notice.

The lights began to flicker again, and I reveled in the sight of him clawing at the armrests, his voice choked away the same as his life would be, momentarily.

“Take her!” I shouted, tossing his neck back and forth as if he was a ragdoll.

“Erik, stop it! Please!”

Christine's pleas snapped my senses back to me, and I quickly pulled away from the man. He wheezed and choked, nearly fainting from my release.

I sighed, and stroked a hand through my hair. Before I could even process what just occurred, someone screamed, “The lights!”

I spun around, witnessing the stage lights ripping from their ropes that connected to the ceiling. _Christine was standing right below them._ I cursed, silently praying that my wings would bring me to her. I heard the lights tear from their bindings, and Christine screamed. In a leap of faith, I jumped towards her at the last moment.

I felt my wings curl around our bodies, blocking the lights away as they crashed into the wooden stage. I heard sparks flying and women screaming, but my only concern was Christine. We rolled down from the stage until my back hit a row of seats, and I immediately looked down at Christine lying in my arms. She moved her arm to rub the back of her head, and I sighed in relief. Then, my breath hitched from realizing her proximity, and I could feel my cheeks flushing. The moment was short, for when I tried to touch her, my body had gone back to phasing through. Once she regained her senses, she lifted herself off the floor and away from me. I laid there for a moment, aching for what I could never have.

“Is everyone well?” a woman called out, one of the employees of the opera. She checked first on Christine, and then on the opera's director.

“What happened?” one of the women who was previously waiting to audition (which clearly would not be happening now) was glancing in horror at the shattered stage lights.

The director pulled himself from his seat, and I could see red marks gleaming around the skin of his neck. He pointed a meaty finger to Christine, and hissed, “Leave. My. Opera.”

Christine held her hands in defense, “I—I don't know what happened, sir.”

Another woman came to her aid, “How could she have done this?”

The director scoffed and pointed to his neck, “She tried to kill me in the dark! You'd better leave before I have you arrested!”

Christine burst into tears, and Raoul rushed to her side. The children followed, with Erik comforting a terrified Philippe. Lucille was enthusing over the phenomenon to Marie, who was silent. Christine pulled herself into Raoul's arms, eventually forcing the tears away for them to exit the building.

I followed silently, shame and guilt sweeping over me.

***

They returned to the home they had rented during their time in Stockholm, and Christine was rushing about, packing all of their belongings. Raoul sent the children away to bed, and watched in an empty sort of horror.

“Christine, what happened?”

“I—I don't _know_ , Raoul! Everything went dark, and, and...” she began crying again, and Raoul swept her into his arms, running his fingers through her curls.

“It's alright, Christine, shhh,” he soothed her, and she calmed down rather quickly.

She pulled away, leaving only her hands on his chest, “There's nothing left for me here. My... my time in opera is over. Let's just... let's just go back to Visby, back to how things were.”

Raoul nodded, “I think that would be best, my dear.”

When they kissed, I did not even feel slightly disgusted.

I felt hollow, empty. _Some kind of guardian angel I was_ , putting her in danger that way. It seemed that my temper was still uncontrollable. Nothing about me had truly changed, had it? I was the same... an angry, childish man who could not take 'no' for an answer. I had not the slightest idea how I was able to interact with the living world in that rage of fury, and I barely remembered strangling that man. I should not have been able to touch him at all... what happened to me?

I felt the most ashamed over Christine and her reaction. She went to the mirror that night, her face covered in tears she had pushed away. I stood beside the mirror, but I refused to stand before it. There was nothing I had to say to her, and I especially did not want her to see me.

“Erik, please come out... please,” she begged, her hand pressing against the reflective surface, “I know it was you. I know what you did. Please... let's talk, Erik.”

Still, I refused to reveal myself to her. But she was stubborn, of course. She sat there for hours, waiting for me, until she finally dozed off and slept against the glass. I stroked a hand through her hair, and decided to sit beside her until she woke.

Internally, I wished to never let her see me again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, this one was difficult for me to put out. Also, I fixed the last chapter from all the historical inaccuracies in it. This chapter might have some too, apologies if so. I know the Royal Swedish Opera was not finished until five years after the events of this chapter but shhhhh. Also electric lights were still becoming a thing in the late 19th century, and I've no idea when Sweden got them. For now I'm going to keep the lights in the opera as electric until I find out otherwise how accurate that may be.
> 
> So Christine has been focused on the most, but the chapters from now will focus on Raoul and their kiddos more! They were introduced in this chapter but there wasn't really any room for them with all this opera stuff. I don't usually like making up characters to use in my fics, so I hope nobody minds the kids either. I'm trying really hard to make them interesting, haha. 
> 
> The idea that Erik could be seen through mirrors was borrowed from ArtistForever from FFNET! Bless her soul tbh
> 
> Thank you as always for the reviews and kudos! There are three chapters left, everything has been planned out, so now it's just a matter of finishing this project. Stay tuned!


	5. Rise and Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thank you so much for your patience on this chapter! My computer nearly died on me after I finished chapter 4, and it took so long for it to get fixed that it put a damper in my motivation on this one. Annnnnd I totally haven't been playing Overwatch constantly, I swear. But really, I'm sorry this took so long, yikes.  
> Here's some other quick things:  
> -I made a very minor edit to chapter 4 that is also in this one: Léon's name has been changed to Philippe. I realized Raoul would definitely name his first son after Philippe, and once that popped into my head I had to change it.  
> -The kiddos grew up learning French and Swedish (and petit Erik knows a bunch of others because he's an overachiever), so that's why they're still popping in French words and phrases. I speak both languages so I apologize if I put in too much haha

Christine's failure in Stockholm completely pulled her apart. The event seemed to have torn all the joy she had built up in our months there, and it resulted in her personality being overtaken. The sweet and gentle Christine I had grown to know and adore had been shattered. I could plainly see the guilt that swept through her. Guilt over that director nearly losing his life, of bringing her family away from their home, and of wasting their time with her age-old dream. The best word I could use to describe her now was: broken.

I refused to let her see me after that incident. I couldn't even bear the thought of letting her be in my presence. She _knew_ it was my fault, that much was certain. For the first few days after it happened, I would hear her curse under her breath in my name whenever she was alone. _Damn Erik!_ But I couldn't approach her, couldn't even apologize. I was pathetic, and weak.

Nevertheless, she was determined. Her hatred for me subsided once she realized I was avoiding her. I saw her apologize to a mirror, prying and begging for me to appear. Once we returned to Visby, she would spend all of her waking hours in front of that mirror, waiting for me to approach her. Usually she was silent, simply staring through the glass with an empty expression. Yet still, I was unable to appear before her. I couldn't. I would watch her wait for me, the remorse tugging at my chest and aching. There were some moments where she would break her silence and call out for me, begging for me. She even wanted me to soothe her with a song. My throat would not break above a whisper, not even for her.

These moments forced me into despair, to clinging my arms around myself and weeping, with my wings coiling around me. I couldn't do it, and I felt incredibly ashamed for it. I was a fool, I was weak, I didn't deserve Christine. I was a pathetic excuse for a guardian angel. She was everything, and I gave her nothing.

Raoul was her only sanctuary now. He refused to go back to sea until Christine had recovered, and he spent his time making sure she would eat and sleep well. She spent _months_ in her depression, I quickly lost count of how many days passed. She refused to go outside, refused to do anything but lay around the house. Her students, along with several other villagers, came to visit her, and she had Raoul turn them all away. Her children were all devastated to see their mother like this. I saw in their eyes the way they longed for her to laugh again, to embrace them against her. Christine's eyes were empty whenever I would gaze into them, and I could see just how much she was suffering.

In those long, unbearable months, she had lost her greatest passion: music. How she reacted to losing her only opportunity for a career in opera was the same I felt once I realized I could never be a well-renowned composer. My face defiled any idea of that. But I was not the same as Christine. She was kind, she was gorgeous, her voice was ethereal. She deserved more than what she had been given.

I had no knowledge of what I should do, if there was anything I _could_ do. I was frightened. _Me, frightened. An unfamiliar concept._ Christine's future was shaky, and I was afraid she would falter.

***

It took much time for her to fall out of her silence. I wasn't even certain just how long. It must have been at least half a year by that point. She was speaking and singing again, but only in rare instances, when her mood was lifted by Raoul or their children. It was enough for me to feel that she may recover, in due time. I was a patient man, and honestly, I was more concerned for how long Raoul and their children could stand to see her this way.

Strangely enough, Christine could only call for me. Once her voice returned, my name was the first word she breathed out. Raoul was the one to hear it, and for that alone I felt a pang of guilt for that poor sod. Having your wife whisper the name of a man long dead, was, I'm sure, painful. But Raoul was stronger than I would have been, and he would listen and soothe her despite the way I saw his throat clench whenever she spoke of me. She would sing and whisper about me when she lay beside Raoul each night. She did not call for me as Erik, no, she was calling for her Angel of Music.

I knew not how to feel about this.

I still refused to visit her in the mirror, but because of that, I believe I had worsened her condition. At this point, I was uncertain I _could_ do anything if I finally did appear. She was clearly going mad, her interactions with her family were borderline nonexistent. My absence was distorting her, and her cries for me were only growing worse. Fear was an emotion I rarely felt, but it was flooding my mind now. I feared for Christine's sanity, and most of all, her family's.

I stopped avoiding her, and I began to glue myself to her side until I was certain that she would heal. At this point, I wasn't certain if I was protecting her anymore, or my son. Of all their children, I knew he worried the most for his mother. His eyes that matched mine would falter whenever Raoul would softly explain to him why Christine couldn't tuck him into bed at night anymore. He was thirteen years old now, and my young genius was growing into a fine adolescent. His wisdom was beyond his years, but even he was weak and confused when he would see his mother sob into a mirror. All of his siblings were, as well, but this entire situation affected him the most.

“But, Papa, she wasn't like this before,” he explained to Raoul one night, who was keeping him from entering their room.

Raoul nodded softly, “I know, I know. This will pass, Erik.”

“But it _won't_ ,” he stammered, “let me see maman, please, I want to see her.”

“I'll send you to bed in her stead, Erik.”

I looked away from the door as Raoul calmed down Erik's meltdown. An ache waved throughout my body, and I turned to glance at Christine on my opposite side, who was on the floor, leaning against that accursed mirror. She ran a hand down the glass, and sang for her Angel of Music to appear. I sighed.

“Christine,” Raoul had entered the room, soothing her with a touch on her shoulders, “let's head to bed.” He somehow managed to send Erik away successfully. But I knew it wouldn't last. Erik was as stubborn as his father.

“No, Raoul... my angel is here... see! You see him, no?”

He forced a glance to the mirror, but I could see the bags in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched when he saw nothing but their own reflections, “Christine, you haven't slept in two days. Let's rest, my love. Your angel will be with you.”

“No, no, Raoul, he only appears... here,” she pressed a hand against the mirror, marveling at it.

He gently pulled her away, turning her towards the bed, “There's nothing there, cherie. Come now, this way.” He lifted her from the floor, pulling her away. I followed them with my eyes, watching Raoul send her to bed, despite her calls and pleas for me. For her angel.

“Raoul, you don't understand! He _did_ come to me, I swear it! He taught me to sing again, he, he... saved my life! He... almost killed...” her chest heaved suddenly, and she wept, clinging to Raoul's sleeves desperately.

Her embraced her, pressing soft kisses against her hair. Between her heavy breathing, she formed practically incoherent words, “H-He... he was so scary, Raoul! So frightening! M-My Angel of Music, a killer!” My fingers curled themselves into a ball, and I had to control my own emotions from her words.

“Shhh, Christine, he can't harm you now, everything is well. Now, get some rest.”

Once her head hit the pillow, she dozed off within seconds. Raoul may have been just as exhausted as she, for he fell asleep soon after, his arms cradling his wife softly.

I couldn't watch this go on any longer. I needed to do _something_.

***

When Christine woke that next morning, I waited for Raoul to leave her by herself. He rarely did, but today was the only day of the week he would visit the market with their children. Everyone would be gone for several hours, and I would be left alone as Christine's only guardian. Leaving her alone for so long was indeed risky, and it was fortunate I was here to protect her. Not that Raoul could ever know I watched over her, but it was nice to feel important.

Raoul rose before her, leaving a peck on her forehead before he dressed and left the house with the children. As I expected, she crawled over the the mirror as soon as she had pulled herself from her sleep. I was a little shocked as she was in her night gown instead of changing into one of the casual dresses she normally wore at home. As I approached her from the side of the mirror, I swallowed in my embarrassment once I realized my eyes were following the curve of her leg, the dip in her neck, the slight bulge of her breasts that peeked out from beneath the cut of her dress...

I was indulging myself unabashedly, but I cursed myself for my sickening act and quickly focused again on what was truly important in this moment.

Swallowing my anxieties, I took slow, careful steps to Christine's back, and my heart sank at the way she noticed my presence in the mirror. Her eyes widened, her mouth gaped, and all I could do was give her a cold, hard stare. She stood, gripping at the wall on her left as she could barely stand.

“My Angel, you've... you've returned...” the horror in her face switched to joy, and she clasped her hands against the mirror.

“Christine, listen to me,” I refused to give her the benefit of the doubt. I needed her to regain her sanity, I needed her to return to the same woman I fell in love with all those years ago. No... it was Raoul who needed it. Raoul, Erik, Lucille, Marie, and little Philippe... they needed their mother back.

“My Angel, I've missed you so! What are we to sing today?”

I pressed my hands onto her shoulder. They phased through her body, but in the mirror, she could see that I was touching her. I saw in my own reflection my eyes of fire, they burned into hers and stopped her nonsense. She grew quiet, and her expression returned to fear.

“Christine, listen to me. Your Angel is here, I have always been here, and I will be by your side until your death. I swear this to you, Christine, I promise you I will never leave. But you need to forget about me, I need to become a faded memory. Your family needs you, not I.”

There was much I had to say, but I was not certain if her mind would even let her acknowledge me, or understand. Suddenly, tears were dripping from her cobalt eyes and she rubbed her eyes relentlessly, sniffling and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Y-You're right, Erik, I'm sorry...” her composure finally returned, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are you going to be alright? You've been out of it for months,” I asked her as I did a slight massage against her shoulders. I knew she couldn't feel it, but it was more of a comforting reflex than anything. The Daroga would often do the same to me in my last few weeks of life, and I relished in the comfort it brought. I hoped it could help her just the same.

“I need some time, still...” her voice was barely above a whisper, and she was still gripping against the floor, “but I feel comfort knowing you didn't leave. After what happened, I thought... I thought you would never return.”

I smiled, “The truth is, I can't leave your side. No, I mean, I _really_ can't. You have nothing to worry about.”

She drew up a smile. It was small, it was weak, but it was the first time I had seen her smile in months. “I'm glad, Erik... and I'm sorry, too. For what happened at the opera.”

“That was my fault, not yours,” I breathed, hoping we wouldn't end up speaking of this, “It's why I couldn't bring myself to see you. I... lost my temper. Almost killed someone. I'm just as horrid as I always have been. I thought I had changed, but...”

“You have, Erik,” Christine's voice was soft, and reassuring, “believe me.”

I pulled my hands away from her shoulders, and took a slight step back, “Raoul will be home soon. Maybe you ought to greet him.”

She nodded softly, “You're right.”

“And, Christine?”

“What is it?”

“My son, Erik, can you...” my throat tightened, and my voice almost lost itself. She looked at me with perplexity, and I stammered. “Does... does he know about me?”

She shook her head, giving a slight laugh, “I never really had the chance to tell him.”

“Will you? For me?”

She went silent. Thoughtful. After a moment, a swift nod. “I will do my best.”

“Thank you.”

***

Christine dressed herself after that, to which I rushed out of the room, my heart thudding until my knees went soft and I collapsed. I never expected her to relapse so quickly, it seemed completely unrealistic for her to bounce back after months of a fading mind. It was pleasant, I had to admit. Having such a casual conversation with her, as if we were longtime friends, helped to put a damper on my doubts that she still cared for me.

However, looking back, my presence often did wonders for Christine. There were so many times where she was in pain, and my proximity healed her. I never really considered it, but perhaps with my duties as her guardian angel, I had powers that even I was unaware of. I had little other explanation for her incredible mental recovery. I glanced down at my hands, flexing my elongated fingers. There was still so much for me to learn.

She left the room moments later, in one of her favourite casual dresses. She sang as she spun around the house, her voice echoing down every corridor. I followed after her, watching as she wandered into every room and tidied up. Raoul made certain to keep the house as spotless as he had time for whilst also caring for four children, and Christine was simply fixing the smallest of inconsistencies. She picked toys off the floor, made the beds, and spent many moments reminiscing over every room, as if it was her first time there.

Raoul and their children returned just as Christine entered the kitchen and she began preparing a meal for them. She turned to greet them when they arrived, and they all gaped at her, mouths wide open. Raoul nearly dropped his bags of food, but caught himself just in time. He was the first to approach her, taking her hand in his.

“Welcome home, cher,” she beamed.

“Christine, you're... you're walking? With no trouble? What happened to you, how are you--”

She silenced him with a chaste kiss, taking the bags he had left on the floor and moving them to the kitchen. With no answer, Raoul continued to stand there, speechless. Erik was the first of the children to follow after Christine, carrying their supplies into the room. The other three followed suit, and Lucille laughed at her father when he plopped to the floor in shock.

Poor Raoul, I had to admit. After looking after her for so long, I could understand how he must have felt. I stood beside him as he slowly lifted himself from the floor. He was standing there idly, nearly toppling over again. While he regained control of himself, I set a hand on his shoulder. Despite it phasing through, as expected, I realized this was the first time I had ever touched him. I wasn't even certain what compelled me to do so. The younger me never would have given his sympathies to who he saw as his enemy.

***

The broken family was finally pieced back together that evening, as they shared their first dinner in over half a year. Joy rushed through me, seeing Christine finally functioning again. I could still hardly believe that I had such a strong healing affect on her. Watching all of them together once again, enjoying each others' company, I felt so much strength and relief. Despite all the horror Christine had faced, she was finally bouncing back. She was returning to her strong, determined self.

That night, Christine had Raoul help her move the mirror from their bedroom into their study room downstairs, which was really more of a miniature library. That's where the mirror originally was, and it was moved when this entire situation began, so that Christine could wait for me without leaving her bed. I was grateful that the move was arranged, for it meant we could speak privately if such an event was ever needed.

She spent the evening alone in the library, sitting comfortably in an armrest and delving through a book as she hummed softly to herself. The mirror was in the corner opposite the armchair, and faced her directly. I gathered the courage to show myself before her, and it took her a few moments to even notice.

“How are you feeling, Christine?” I caught her off guard, and she jumped to slam the book shut.

She breathed in relief when she realized it was me, and opened it back up, but her attention was away from it, “Amazing, Erik. Simply amazing. It feels as if a weight has been lifted, I... can't really describe it.”

“I'm glad.”

“You know, I—“

She was quickly interrupted, as a knock rang on the door. “Yes?” she called out, and the door was pulled open to reveal Erik, who was glancing into the room cautiously.

“Maman, I wanted to ask you something.”

He shut the door behind him, stepping over to sit in the chair beside her.

“What is it, love?” she set the book down, her melodic voice chirping.

He twiddled his thumbs, keeping his golden gaze away from his mother's inquisitive eyes, “I just... I wanted to ask if you would be doing voice lessons again.”

She pondered it over, “I haven't thought about that yet, dear. I would like to, if my students are willing to return. Why do you ask?”

“I, ah...” Erik breathed, controlling the stammer in his voice, “I wanted to ask if you would teach me, too.”

Christine went to look at me just in time to see my face light up with joy. I nodded quickly, prodding her.

“Of course, Erik! But I thought you didn't care about music?”

“I _like_ music, I just never had interest to _play_ it,” he laughed lightly, giving a shrug, “but I'm growing bored with my other hobbies, I thought I would try something new. Something... that you love.”

Christine gave a heartwarming smile at that, and she nodded, “Then yes, I will teach you.”

“Merci, maman!” he grinned, leaping off the chair and turning away, “Good night, then.”

“Erik, wait.”

Erik stopped, and my brows furrowed. He gave her a quizzical look, “What is it?”

Christine's eyes turned to me, and she nodded. I held my breath. I instantly understood her intentions.

“Sit down again, Erik. I want to tell you something.”

He complied, still looking perplexed, “Tell me something? What?”

Christine bit her lip, clenching the fabric of her dress, “It's complicated, Erik, but you're a smart boy, and I think you're old enough for this.”

“Maman, you're beginning to frighten me,” he laughed.

“Erik...” she set her hands on his, giving a deep breath, “I want you to know that Raoul is not your real father.”

All the colour escaped his face, “What?”

“There was another man, a long, long time ago. He is your true father, but don't understand me wrongly, Erik. Raoul loves you all the same.”

“I... I had no idea. Is that why I look so different from my siblings?”

She nodded, “You look just like he did, actually! Same hair, same eyes. And your name? The same as his. You were named in his honour.”

“Who is he, then? Why haven't I met him?”

She pulled out a sigh, “He died before you were born. I am sorry, I wish you could have met him. He was a genius, just like you. He was a composer, an architect, a magician... I could go on,” she laughed, and Erik gave a short laugh before going silent.

“I know this is much to take in, Erik, but I would rather you know the truth.”

He gave a swift nod, “I need some time, maman, I'm sorry.”

He pulled away from her and left the room, leaving the two of us in silence.

My entire body had gone numb, and I barely registered what even occurred.

Christine was looking directly at me, and she came to stand behind me as we both faced the mirror, “I'm sorry, I don't think he took it well...” she muttered, and she hovered her hands over my shoulders.

“It's not your fault Christine, I... thank you.”

She nodded, “I wanted him to know, too. He deserves to know about his amazing father.”

I forced a laugh, quieting down the sobs I wanted to release instead, “You're too kind.”

***

Unfortunately, Erik was not terribly thrilled once he learned the truth. I had worried this would happen, but seeing it in action, my chest ached and tore apart. The next morning, he immediately went to Raoul's side, and begged him for an explanation. I saw as Raoul's expression switched into anxiety, and he insisted that it did not matter who Erik's father was. Raoul explained that he was his father all the same, and cared for him just as equally. Erik wasn't having any of it, and stormed off.

Concerned, I followed after my son, watching as he slipped into his room, grabbing a canvas and some paints. Philippe caught Erik before he could rush outside, asking him what he was doing.

“I just want to work on something... you can come with me, though,” and so Philippe tagged along.

They went out the back entrance of the house, to the nearby cliff that overlooked the sea. I rarely ventured outside, and I breathed lightly as I watched the soft waves of the Baltic Sea brush against the rocks below. Erik immediately set up his easel and began a pencil sketch of what lay before him. Philippe watched Erik work silently with interest, and whenever he grew bored, he would pull the grass away that lay at his feet.

When Erik finished his sketch, he took out his brushes and began to fill the canvas with paint.

“Wow,” Philippe breathed as he watched, “I didn't know you could do that.”

“I'm still learning.” Erik's voice was quick and precise, yet also humble.

“Have you done others?”

“This is my first.”

“Papa would love to see it, I think.”

Erik paused in the middle of a brushstroke, and his mind went blank. When he bounced back from the brief delay, he sighed, “I would rather show it to maman.”

Philippe huffed, “Why not Papa, too? He loves art!”

I watched as my son stopped his work once more, and he set his brushes aside. I could tell that he wasn't sure how to respond to that statement. There was a significant age difference between the two brothers, and Erik often found himself unable to explain certain criteria to the young and naïve Philippe.

Erik took a heavy breath, “It's a secret, okay, Philippe? You're the only one who knows about this.” I could tell he was lying through his teeth. He was quick and cunning, just like me.

“What? What secret?” the little boy's eyes lit up, and he grinned, obviously intrigued.

“I'm painting this for maman, it's a present for her! You can't tell her though, it's a surprise.”

The younger brother nodded, “I won't tell!”

***

Hours passed, and I watched keenly as Erik continued his work on the painting. It was his first painting, but he was already at a professional level. As expected of my genius of a son. He had several talents that even I never touched during my life. The landscape painting was phenomenal; I could see every light and shadow of the water and every speck of colour in the sky. It was as if he had plucked the very world itself into the small canvas.

Raoul approached the three of us once the sun began to set, and tried to coax Erik away for supper. Philippe went with him, but Erik muttered with ire that he would be there once he finished. I saw as Raoul's expression grew soft, and he acknowledged Erik's wishes, turning back to the house with Philippe in tow.

I debated with myself whether I should stay, or if I should accompany Christine for the remainder of the evening. I ended up staying, entranced from watching Erik weave together each brushstroke, splashing all those different shades together. But the daylight was fading, and I knew Erik would not be able to paint all night. It wasn't until the last flicker of light faded beneath the horizon that he proclaimed, “Finished!” and began packing his supplies, heading back inside. I followed along swiftly.

Christine approached him in his room moments later, “Erik, dear, you missed dinner. Are you hungry?”

He shook his head, stuffing his paints into a hidden crevice, “No, maman, I'm fine.”

Christine nodded, but he was facing the opposite way and missed it. She sighed slightly, pulling herself into his room and shut the door behind her.

“Erik, your father told me about your behaviour lately.”

“Raoul is _not_ my father.”

She opened her mouth to speak, and shut it promptly. Erik was gazing up at her. He didn't appear angry, but he was definitely not calm. Christine pulled up a hand, and made a gesture of giving up.

“I'm sorry, dear. Maybe I shouldn't have told you this so soon.”

“No,” he shook his head vigorously, his bright eyes nearly set aflame, “I'm _glad_ you told me. What I don't understand, maman, is... why have I not heard of him? You said he was a composer, shouldn't he be famous? I thought all composers were.”

I caught the moment when Christine's breath hitched. I nearly did the same. How would she explain to this young teenager that his father was never a famous composer simply because he was too hideous and was forced to spend his life in solitude beneath an opera house? I was uncertain if Erik looked up to me or not, but if he did, I was sure that would have been shattered instantly.

“How are you sure he's not?” Christine gave a light laugh, and I caught onto her game. Parents have always been good at lying to their children. I could confirm that from my own experiences.

“You said his name was Erik, like mine. I only know of one composer with that name: Erik Tulindberg. I know he can't be him, he died before you were born.”

I couldn't help put pull out a laugh. This kid was not one to mess around. He would use any means to find his answer, and looked at every possibility in anything. I saw Christine's throat tighten. Even she wasn't sure how to react.

Erik noticed her silence, “Maman, please, I just want to know more about him.”

Her face hardened for a split second, and turned soft soon after. “Very well.”

They sat together on his bed, and she told him everything. At the very least, as much as she _could_ explain to a thirteen year-old boy. He may have been a genius, but there were certain pieces to our story that weren't suited for the ears of a child.

_Our story._ I never thought of it as that before. She explained it well, beginning with what she knew of my life, however little that was. I knew the Daroga had over-shared as much he could about me to Raoul, and he must have later done the same to Christine. I was slightly upset I would never be able to do the same to my son.

Then, she moved on to the Palais Garnier. I saw Erik made a face of disappointment when he learned that I lived in hiding, all while shielding my face from the world. Rest assured, Christine told him, my life of solitude did not make me any less of a genius. Erik lit up with every explanation of all that I accomplished: beginning from when I designed a castle for the Shah of Persia, to when I assisted Charles Garnier in his work on the opera, to when I completed my greatest project: Don Juan Triumphant. Erik was overjoyed to know that while I may have my name erased from history, I still made an impact.

“Thank you, maman,” Erik whispered to Christine, and he reached over to jot down notes in the notepad on his night stand.

She sent him to bed after a swift hug, and left the room. She darted down the hall to their small library, and rushed to the mirror, breathing in relief when she saw my reflection.

“Erik, did you hear all of that?”

I nodded. I was overjoyed but my nerves made the entire situation difficult to comprehend. “I appreciate you telling him. I'm... I'm grateful that he's so fascinated by me, truly.”

“It's the least I could do.”

I smiled, “Get some rest, Christine. I'll see you soon.”

***

It took time for Erik to warm up to Raoul again, but it happened nonetheless. After learning that Erik knew the truth of his birth, he was determined to make Erik feel comfortable again in their family. On a whim, Raoul decided to purchase a small boat for the family. It was, of course, a fisher's boat, much like the one he worked on. It was a decent enough size for the five of them (and myself, hovering around everyone) for their family escapades. It became a tradition every summer when the Swedish weather was kind and the daylight was longer. Otherwise, the tiny boat sat at Visby's docks, sitting in solitude.

Erik was pleased with the boat, and greatly enjoyed exploring the Baltic Sea with his relatives. That helped the straining relationship he was developing with Raoul, but it wasn't enough. I still was confused why Erik had grown so distasteful to him, whom he had known all his life as his father. Raoul did not deserve such discord from him after all the affection and care he had bestowed upon him. It was strange for me to sympathize with Raoul in the first place, but even I had to admit that Erik was being unnecessary.

Christine, on the other hand, was doing her best to make Erik comfortable as well. After two years since returning from Stockholm, she finally reopened her music school. Her students returned to her with gracious words of joy, some of them were so grateful to her that they brought bouquets to congratulate her recovered health. Christine was so overwhelmed by the kindness of her students, and worked even harder to bring them their lessons. She had become well known around the village, and began dragging in even more students than before.

Among those students were Lucille and Erik, who both willingly accepted Christine's offer to learn to sing from her. Erik began learning about a year prior after he first showed interest, and was already far ahead of his sister. Marie and Philippe declined, as they were not interested in music. Granted, Erik was not truly interested until he learned about me. Initially he wanted to learn for his mother, but I could tell that interest only grew when he learned of my existence. I was glad to see him take part in the subject, but I wondered if he did it only for my sake, rather than his own. He would quickly grow bored and give up if he didn't make an investment. He often did that whenever he tried new hobbies that didn't interest him fast enough.

In those two years, everything had finally settled into the calm after the storm. It was just as it was before the events in Stockholm, and I could finally say that I was content once again. Christine was enjoying her music, finally having moved on from her failed career in opera. The children finally had the mother they knew back, and they could finally enjoy themselves in her presence again. Yet, Christine had not healed completely. There were still nights where she would cradle herself in Raoul's arms as she wept. I wasn't completely certain what still ailed her by this point. It may have been trauma, or stress, that was my assumption.

With Christine mostly healed from the months of her depression, Raoul decided to take up sailing once again. He did not return to his previous work near the coast where he would net crayfish daily, but instead earned a shipment job. He was home even less since he would constantly sail between the docks of Visby, Stockholm, Gothenburg, and the like, shipping goods between the mainland and the tiny island of Gotland. It gave him something to do, that he enjoyed, and it kept bread on the table. Internally, I felt just as upset as Christine did when he would be out of the house for several days. I had grown fond of that foolish boy, and even enjoyed his company.

The night before he left on a trip to London, I sat in their room as he and Christine were snuggling in each others' arms. A tender moment between the two, and I felt as if I was imposing. At this point, I had been in the presence of enough of their private intimacy that I no longer cared. It did not affect me. Well... not always.

Raoul was especially tender to her that night, playing with her curls as they shared an afterglow of silence. Christine had her head against his chest, breathing softly.

Raoul broke the quiet air, “I love you.” A simple statement, yet even I felt a shiver at the soft tone he held. Christine laughed lightly.

“And you as well.”

He gave her a soft kiss, running his hands through her soft locks.

“How long will you be away?” she asked as he ran a hand down the dip of her spine. I watched his hand as it trailed further and further down, and forced myself to look away, a pang of envy ringing through my ears. I settled it down quickly. _I don't care. I don't care._

“A week or so,” he sighed as he answered her, “should I write to you?”

“If you can, I would like that.”

Another kiss, “Very well.”

And they fell asleep, content.

***

Three days after Raoul had gone to sea, Christine and I were enjoying ourselves in each others' company. She was reading a book, facing the mirror in their fake library, and I stood beside her, reading along. This was something we had developed as a way to spend time together whenever we weren't singing, and I reveled in every moment we shared. It was calm, quiet, and truly had me believing that she still cared for me despite all the torment I had given her. After years and years of feeling like a burden to her, we found a place of respite. I had calmed down in my afterlife, with no reason now to feel anger, hate, or resentment. She told me she was glad to see the development I had, to which I joked that death was a decent excuse.

I was surprised to learn that she was disappointed when she learned I had lost my deformity after my death. “It doesn't suit you,” she would say. I wasn't sure whether I could agree with her or not. I had the face I always wanted, but if she wanted me to be ugly again, what was I to do?

She eventually grew accustomed to it, just like the rest of the bizarre things that had happened to me. She was fascinated with all of it, to be fair. Often, she would tell me how hopeful she was for an afterlife like I experienced, where she could freely roam the world as a supernatural being. I didn't have the heart to tell her that that was anything but the case.

In the midst of our reading of The Picture of Dorian Grey, we were both seated on the arm chair, reading in silence, basking in the others' presence. As soon as we found a stopping point, Christine spoke promptly.

“Erik... answer me truthfully,” she began, and I gave her a puzzled look, “what should I do if something happens to Raoul?”

I wasn't sure what to say at first, “What is there that _could_ happen to him?”

She shrugged slightly, “I don't know. He works at sea. Anything can happen.”

“That's true,” I admitted, scratching my chin as I thought over it, “he's not traveling very far, to be fair. Where's the furthest he's gone? London? Le Havre? I doubt anything could happen.”

She nodded, but didn't seem convinced. Noticing this, I stroked her arm, wincing at the way it passed through. But she was watching me, staring directly into the mirror.

“He'll be fine, my dear,” I gave her a beaming grin, but she only smiled softly, “and if anything does happen, I'll be here. You know it.”

Another nod, and she declared that she was going to head upstairs and sleep. She gave a quick peck to where she assumed my cheek to be (she hit my chin instead but I wasn't going to spoil her fun) and ran off.

***

I woke from a quick nap I took in the library armchair due to an ear-piercing scream.

I rose immediately, rushing to the direction that more screaming was coming from, until I entered the foyer. Christine was the source of the noise, and she was leaning against the wall beside the main door, nearly faltering to the floor. A man was standing in the doorway, his expression blank. He was wearing the same uniform that Raoul took to work.

I froze.

Erik rushed in the room, towing Philippe behind him. He shushed Philippe away, and went up cautiously to his mother, tapping her shoulder. She was holding a letter, and he took it away from her. He skimmed the letter quickly, immediately comforting his mother Looking up at her son, her tears grew more intense and she pulled Erik into a vigorous hug. Lucille stormed in with Marie, and Erik handed her the letter.

“Father...” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

The man in the doorway gave a slight bow, “I'll be off. I'm sorry.” and closed the door before leaving.

I still couldn't do anything. Couldn't even breathe.

Lucille dropped the letter, the four children all cradling around their mother. I crawled over to the fallen parchment, reading the blurred words of ink, the page covered in drying tears.

_Fru Christine Daae,_

_Your husband, Raoul de Chagny, and his crew, were caught in a storm during their voyage to London, England, and he has been proclaimed deceased. We offer our deepest condolences—_

I couldn't bear to read beyond that point. I joined the rest of the family in their remorse, tears burning from my eyes. I crawled over to where they were still huddled together. I wrapped my arms around them all, especially to Erik and Christine, my wings folding themselves over all of us.

_This wasn't happening._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel reaaaally bad for killing off Raoul. I love him, he is my son, but I can't stand when someone makes Christine the first to die, so uh... he had to go. It wasn't going to be until they were older but then I realized it wouldn't have made as much of an impact? So uh, rip in peace
> 
> I should elaborate on Erik's abilities since it's kinda vague (since he doesn't know how they work either). He phases through people and walls 90% of the time, but he can sit on objects like chairs and beds and is able to interact with the world during certain moments (like at the Swedish opera). He has a strong healing affect whenever Christine is unhealthy, physically or mentally, as we saw in this and chapter 3. Christine can only hear him speak when he's in the mirror. And he faces /towards/ the mirror, so he usually stands behind Christine. They can't really face each other directly. That's about it lmao
> 
> Thank you as always for reading, and for all the reviews and kudos I've received! You guys have been amazing. There are two chapters left, and I have about a month still until classes start. I'm hoping to get them out before then. Depends on how much Overwatch I end up playing instead lmao


	6. The Answer

A body was never recovered. I feared that he now rested at the bottom of the sea. He was granted nothing but a small memorial service at the local church. There were a dozen or so residents of Visby who joined the de Chagny family in mourning. They never truly knew him. Nothing but neighbours, passersby, people who knew nothing of how Raoul fought, how he struggled, how he never gave in. He was brave, strong, kind... everything I could never be.

Christine was surprisingly calm during the service. But I could see how she suffered. Bags were evidently under her eyes, and I knew she barely slept in the week since she received the letter. Her curls were pulled up to hide the tangles that formed from neglecting her own self care. Her black gown and crepe was as dull and lifeless as she had become. I didn't blame her.

The service was long, too long, and every second was agonizing. Christine was still, sitting calmly with her hands clasped together on her lap. Lucille and Marie were on each side of her, the former tugging on her mother's dress affectionately. Erik was beside Lucille, cradling a young Philippe who was whimpering silently to stop himself from crying. It wasn't working. Seeing Erik's blank, stone-cold expression caused a shiver to course through the back of my neck. I had never seen him look so stoic, or so unreadable. I couldn't imagine what was running through his mind.

After all, Erik just spent the better part of a year disliking Raoul for lying to him his entire life. I still believed he was senseless for despising Raoul for something out of his control, but for a man you hated to suddenly die, well... it was a feeling I was familiar with.

There were few who spoke to the crowd. One or two, but I quickly forgot who they were. I believed they were co-workers of Raoul's from his days on the fishing boat. The de Chagny family remained seated, and Christine was asked by the priest giving the service if she would like to say a few words. She politely declined. I heard her voice break.

When it was finally over, Christine and the children were surrounded by a handful of villagers who came to give them their condolences. She thanked each of them quietly, and I could tell she was struggling. She was similar now to fractured china, and with each thought of Raoul she desperately was trying to force her pieces back together. It was painful to witness. When the church cleared out of visitors, Christine walked over to the stand, where dozens of flowers and an old portrait of Raoul sat. Her fingertips brushed the glass covering his face, and she finally lost her composure.

_ I don't blame her. _ Those words rang through my head every single time I saw her cry over her late husband. After all, every man that had influenced her life had finally passed on. Her father, her angel of music, and finally, her husband. 

Lucille tugged at her dress lightly, “Maman, let's go home.”

In a flash, I saw Christine regain herself, sniffling and brushing a stray hair back, “Yes. You're right.” After forcing a smile back onto her face, she took Lucille's hand and led the four of them back home.

***

Time moved on without us and I could do nothing but helplessly watch these events unfold.

Christine finally pulled herself out from a severe depression only to dive headfirst back into one. This time, I was unsure of how she may escape from it... if she did at all. Unlike the last, this was something completely out of my realm of control. Raoul's death was a tragedy, nothing more, yet nothing less. I would give anything now to prevent it if I could. But I knew that no matter what powers I possessed, that was never a possibility. Even my healing abilities did nothing to soothe her agony. I eventually gave up trying.

She spent a year in mourning. Constant, agonizing mourning. Black was her entire wardrobe, and she remained indoors until Erik would prod her to join him in buying supplies. Even then, she was still forcing herself desperately to so much as stand. It did not take much for her to lose what little energy she could muster. Once her children had been fed and taken care of for the day, she would throw herself back into the bedroom and lay motionless until the next afternoon. She was unable to sleep until several hours past midnight, and so she did not rise from bed again until much later in the day. Breakfast was made by Erik, and often, so was lunch. He took it upon himself to keep his younger siblings fed until Christine was able to function.

It was unbearable, watching Christine try to so much as pull herself out of bed every afternoon. But I knew she was trying, hopelessly, desperately. I often heard her speaking to herself when she was alone in her bedroom. She constantly reminded herself of her children, and how they had nothing but her now. She would call herself a fool for even thinking of leaving them alone. But I knew that thought wavered in her mind, at times. Usually late at night, as she wavered on the cliff above the sea, gazing into the jagged rocks just a short drop below. I remained at her side during those moments.

Erik, despite being fourteen years old by the time Raoul died, had aged at least five years after the tragedy. Mentally, that is. He was mature enough as it was, but once Christine lost her motivation, he took it upon himself to care for his younger siblings when his mother was too weak to do so. He didn't seem to mind, surprisingly. He even seemed to enjoy the trivial tasks he took it upon himself to do. Cooking meals, cleaning each room, making sure Philippe and the girls went to sleep at a proper hour. He even took over as a tutor for their studies, a task that used to belong to Raoul. Christine thanked Erik constantly, pulling him into affectionate hugs when her mood allowed her.

She regained herself over time. Much, much time. Ten years, in fact. Two for her to smile again. Five for her to regain her energy. Then finally, it was ten until she was fully functional, the beautiful and carefree Christine I fell in love with. It was hard to believe twenty-five years had already passed since we first met. I often wondered if she was counting them, too.

Unfortunately, I worried instead that she was forgetting me. I expected her to come to my side for emotional support several times, but I was surprised to find that she never did. I rarely ever saw her even enter the library, and when she did, she always avoided the mirror.

What broke my heart most of all: she covered the mirror with a black crepe. 

I suppose that was superior to her destroying it entirely, but I was nevertheless upset and confused and  _ disappointed _ in her for doing that.  _ Why? Why would she shut me out this way, her angel, her guardian? _

I watched over her daily, waiting to find my answer. But that never happened. She never so much as mentioned me again to herself, or her children. The Angel of Music was quickly becoming a forgotten entity, and my chest ached at what this could mean. My only means of contact to her had been blocked, and that's exactly what she was doing to me as well. I was shut out, shunned away. I wished desperately to be able to see her, to have just one more conversation with her. I could hardly believe I was being shut away like this.

Yet, she didn't bat an eye. She was moving on, to the next stage in both her life and the life of her children. After the ten years, Erik was now twenty-four. I half expected him to have a fulfilling life at an early age, as many prodigies did, but strangely, that did not seem to be a life for his liking. He remained in Visby, while twenty year-old Lucille and eighteen-year old Marie left as soon as they were able to. Marie was studying physiology in Stockholm at university, while Lucille was living in Uppsala with a man she met and married during a trip to the mainland a handful of years ago. Philippe was finishing up his studies, with Erik and Christine both as his instructors. 

Erik refused to follow the life set out for him just for his genius. He could have gone to a prestigious school, just like I had been offered. He could have traveled to England, or France, and lived as a scholar, architect, poet... anything he wished for. He may have led a wildly successful life. Unlike his father, he was not cursed with a hideous visage. Erik could have led the life I would have had, but he instead remained in a small village with no credibility. That was not to say he was not using his genius for productivity, however. He took on an architectural job for the village, to make restorations to several medieval buildings. When he was home from work, he spent his free time tutoring Philippe, painting, writing his poetry, or continuing his music lessons with Christine. I heard him often tell Philippe how much he was enjoying the peaceful lifestyle he had acquired. To see Erik finally content, I was glad.

Philippe was sixteen years old by this point, still a naïve child, but I could see how maturely he had grown. I was fond of Philippe just as I was of Erik, and I enjoyed being in the company of them both. They retained their good brotherly relationship from their childhood into adulthood, which I was grateful to see.

Philippe, however, had very little memory of Raoul. He had hardly aged before Raoul passed away, and boasted only a handful of memories of him. He would often peg for Erik to tell him stories of the father they shared, and Erik would indulge him. But I could see it pained him to do so. Even after all this time, Erik's resentment for Raoul was strong. Yet strangely, he never revealed the truth of his birth to his little brother. Philippe had no knowledge that Christine was all they shared.

One cool, summer evening, I took it upon myself to watch them both. Christine was reading by herself in their miniature library, a place I could not enter without feeling a lurch in my throat. The black crepe remained over the mirror in that accursed room.  _ Our _ mirror.

So I left her side with a curse under my breath, and went to stay with the two brothers. Erik was propped up by the cliff facing the sea. His brother sat beside him as he always did while he worked, jotting down notes in his journal that they were going over together. Erik had his easel set up, and he was working on another of his dozens and dozens of paintings of the same view. I never understood why he would paint that single scene of the ocean so many times, but it was fascinating to watch nonetheless. I could see how he improved significantly throughout his years of practice. He still had his first painting, but it was nothing compared to what he could do now. His paintings were the ocean itself at this point.

“Are you getting hungry, Erik? Should I fetch something for us?” Philippe piped up, taking a brief break from studying and stretching his arms.

“I'm fine. You can go get something if you need to.” Erik's response was precise, his tongue sharp.

Philippe pouted, “I'll wait,” he turned back to his notebook, and began reading aloud the English words he was tasked to study. Erik would correct his pronunciation with each slip-up, of which there were several.

Erik laughed softly at Philippe's thick accent, the French and Swedish they both grew up learning affecting his performance, “You need to pronounce more letters, you keep skipping some. Try again.”

“It's  _ hard _ ,” the little brother whined, throwing himself back against the bristling grass, “I don't know how you can learn languages so easily! I can barely manage two!”

Another chuckle, “I'm just better than you, but that's okay.”

“That's rude!” Philippe sat up again, taking a glance at Erik's painting, “Hey, that's looking good. I'm jealous, you're so talented, Erik. How do you do it?”

The elder brother shrugged, “I dunno. It's always been like this. Everything I try, I end up doing it perfectly.”

“And then there's me, the one who screws everything up,” the boy's sigh that came after his statement was loud and pronounced. I felt an ache seeing him speak in such a way.

“Don't say that, Philippe. You're very talented.”

He crinkled his nose up at his older brother, “At what?”

“You're a fast reader, for one. You're better at piano than any of us, even me. Maman once told me so,” Erik gave a laugh, “you can draw very well, too.”

Philippe scoffed, “Alright, alright, you got me. I can do a few things,” he wrapped his arms around his knees, crouching them to his chest, “but I'm years behind you.”

“Philippe... so are Lucille and Marie, and they're both just as talented. Not even because I'm the eldest, I just have these gifts I can't control. But you need not compare yourself to me. You can't be me, you can only be you.”

The younger brother went silent at this, kicking at the grass with his sole. Erik sighed, focusing his attention back to his work. 

“Did father teach you anything? For your hobbies, I mean?” Philippe's sudden question forced a chill to run through Erik, and I could see the way he tensed.

“No.” A simple answer. Sharp. Precise.

“Did he have any hobbies?”

“He liked to make paper cranes. Sometimes he would knit Maman a scarf. That's all I remember.”

“Aw, I had no idea! Father seems like he was so kind.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

Philippe was startled at the harshness in Erik's tone, but the elder brother only continued his work. “Why do you do that? Every time I talk about father, you get so angry.”

“It's  _ nothing _ , Philippe, let's talk about something else,” he was practically snarling now. I felt my stomach churn. I had never seen Erik so irritated like this before.

“Erik, I know you're lying,” Philippe flew onto his feet, crossing his arms in a flurry as he looked down at Erik, “What is it? You can tell me!”

Erik stopped, set down his brush, and glowered up at his brother. I saw fire seeping in his golden gaze. It was haunting.  _ Is this what others saw when they had to see me angry? _

“Raoul isn't my father,” Erik spat, his words cold as if he was about to hiss and bite, like a serpent.

“Huh?” he was taken aback, his defiant stance faltering, “What do you mean?”

“You want all the nasty details? Go ask Maman,” and with that, Erik returned to his painting, refusing to continue their conversation. Philippe continued to plead for an explanation, but Erik refused to say a word. In a frenzy, Philippe snatched his notebook and ran back to the house with his soft eyes overflowing. 

I was frozen. Erik had never had fury like that before. He had never treated Philippe that way. They always got along so well... what happened?  _ Who was this child I saw?  _

_ Yours. He's yours, you monster. He's just like you.  _

Erik turned to face where I was still sitting, my limbs trapped in limbo. I locked eyes with his, and those terrifying golden eyes were ablaze. The moment was brief, and when it passed, his attention went to the house I was sitting against. He left his painting behind, storming into the building. I forced my body to thaw out, and I rushed after him.

He was looking for something, and I followed. I was uncertain what at first, but then I assumed it may have been Philippe. If Christine was still in the library, then that must be where the boy had gone to as well. Erik was unaware of this, and I wished there was a way I could direct him to where he needed to be.

“Erik.”

A desperate, but useless call. I wasn't sure why I said his name at all.

Until, our eyes met again. The same eyes. He was looking in my direction, brows furrowed in his confusion. The flames had settled into a simmer, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I turned away, and sped down the hall, towards the library. I was amazed to see that he was following me. I was perplexed, but nonetheless, relieved. When I phased through the door, I was a witness to the scene of Christine sitting gracefully in the chair we once shared together. Beside her was Philippe, looking solemn and sniffling with indignity.

“I'm sorry you had to learn this way,” Christine cooed, patting her son's back in one long stroke.

Before more could be said, Erik threw open the double doors that led into the room.

“Philippe! Ah, Maman, you're here too, I'm—“

“I already know what happened, Erik. Why did you get angry at your brother?”

His brows knitted, “Oh, I—I thought you'd be angry for something else.”

“What, that you told him about your real father? That doesn't matter, Erik, it's not important.”

“'Not important?' How could you talk about him that way, Maman?!” Erik stormed into the room, closing their distance, his eyes set ablaze once again.

Christine flew up from her chair, poking an index finger into Erik's chest, “Erik, where did this anger come from?! I say one insignificant thing, and you throw a fit! What happened?”

“Philippe was bothering me! He always,  _ always _ talks to me about Raoul, and you know I don't want to talk about him! So I told him the truth, and now you're both upset at me?!” Erik's arms flailed as he spoke, and his eyes were practically glowing, “I'm the one who feels like a victim here!”

“How fitting, you're acting just like your father!”

“How?!”

“His anger was just like this, Erik! One small word, and he would blow up! I...” her tone suddenly softened as her fingers laced together, “I don't want to see you end up like him. Full of hate, and rage. Calm down, Erik, please.”

Erik huffed, “The way you talk about my father, sometimes... it almost sounds like you were frightened of him.”

Christine choked. Her eyes watered up instantly. “Oh, honey, he  _ terrified _ me.”

I had to grip my arm to keep myself from toppling over.  _ You're a monster. Monster. _

Erik froze, his face alternating between the flames of a consumed forest and the waves that washed away the blaze. The flames won. He was silent, and began pacing the room, until he landed his eyes upon the black crepe. He watched it for a moment, before snatching the flowing fabric, “If you hated him so much, then you never should have had me.”

Christine cried for him to stop just before he pulled down the crepe, and it landed unceremoniously onto the floor.

I immediately locked eyes with Erik, and I could see Christine's reflection staring at us in horror. Ten years it's been since Christine could see me. She had avoided me all this time, ignoring and shunning away my existence. 

“Maman, is... is there a person in there?” Erik cried out, backing away in his startled horror. “What's going on?”

_ What? _

“You can see me?” I didn't mean to say anything, but the words flew from my lips before I could help them.

“You're still around?” Christine's voice was low, and careful. She was glaring so fiercely I was afraid she may shatter the glass and I would vanish again, forever this time.

I scoffed, “I have no choice, Christine. I told you that I'm bound to you.”

Erik turned to his mother, gripping her dress, “Maman, who is this? Am I dreaming?” Philippe was still sitting in his chair silently, his face drawn up in perplexity. I don't think the younger brother was able to see me. Yet somehow, and I knew not if I was grateful or terrified, but Erik was finally able to see me. This was all I had ever hoped for.

Christine was silent, and she bent down to snatch the crepe from the floor.

“If you shut me away again, Christine, the consequences will be severe,” I snarled, my fingers raking down the glass. Then, my anger transformed to desperation, “I want to speak to my son, please. Give me a few minutes.”

She froze, exchanging glances with Erik, who looked as if he was ready to faint. I felt the same, and I had to grip against the mirror just to keep my legs from faltering. After an agonizing moment of silence, she set the crepe down and went to take Philippe's hand. 

“Fine, I'll let you speak to him. It's what he would want, after all.” She left with Philippe, shutting the double doors. Now, it was only us. Myself, and my son. I had dreamed of this moment for the past twenty-four years, yet ironically, I was out of words.

Erik was, as well. I knew he had much he wanted to say. He crept closer to the glass, his eyes focused directly on my reflection. He waved an arm out to where I was, and it phased through me. I sighed.

“We're both  _ terrible _ at this,” I joked, forcing a laugh. He cracked a smile at that.

“I'm confused,” he finally spoke, his voice low and methodical. He was being careful with every word, “Maman told me you died.”

“She was right. I died shortly after you were conceived.”

“Then how—“

“It's a long story,” I interrupted with a wave of my hand, “if you wish to know, I will tell you. And anything else about me you wish to know.”

He nodded swiftly, encouraging me to tell. And so I did. I began from my childhood, explaining the horrors I faced throughout my long, miserable life. He didn't believe me when I told him I was cursed with a hideous face, saying that I looked perfectly fine. At that moment, I was beyond grateful he would never have to see my true visage.

A story I did not entirely wish to tell, of how Christine and I met, was the one he prodded at the most, demanding every detail. He did not seem fazed when I explained every horrible atrocity I committed to Christine, or even to the dozens of people who died by my hand. Having a murderer for a father was not something that anyone should be delighted to hear about, but, well... Erik was.

He then asked me countless questions, ranging from my adventures abroad, to my ill-fated career as a composer, to the strange afterlife I was now trapped in. No matter what I said, he was fascinated. The entire exchange was delightful, and yet... melancholic. I could feel our time growing short.

“I'm so proud to have a father like you,” Erik beamed, “you're nothing like Raoul, you're so much more unique!”

I paused at that statement. In him, I saw the me from twenty-five years ago. An angry, spiteful fool, willing to put the blame of his troubles onto another person. I spent much more time adoring Raoul for all his sacrifices than I ever did of hating him. While it did take several years to reach that state, I could not imagine what it was like to detest Raoul again. It was a foreign sensation now. It was aching to see my son looking so fulfilled for his pent up anger at a man that did him no harm.

“Raoul was a kind, gentle man. I miss him terribly.”

Erik stopped, knit his brows together, “I—I suppose. But he was a liar.”

I shook my head, “I know that, deep inside, you blame Raoul. You blame him for my death, and you wish I could have stayed with Christine.” Erik went silent. I had seen right through him. “You need to know he had nothing to do with my death. I would have died whether Christine and I wound up together or not. He raised you when I could not, knowing well that you were not his son.”

Erik crossed his arms, nodding silently. Then he muttered, “You're right, I.... I was being stupid.”

I pulled out a smile. The first I had in years. 

A smile that faltered once Christine entered the room, “Are you both finished?” She didn't seem so frustrated at my presence any longer.

Erik turned to me once more, and beamed, “Thank you,” and he bolted from the room.

Christine went the grab the crepe, and I pleaded, “Christine, please, don't! Don't shut me out again, I beg of you!”

She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, shaking her head, “I'm sorry, after... after Raoul died, I panicked. I didn't know what to do.”

“I've longed to interact with Erik since he was born. You have no idea how much that moment meant to me, Christine. If you shut me out, I'll never get to see him again.”

“Erik, I don't... I don't think you keep us safe anymore. Bad things happen when you're around... Stockholm was the first. And then Raoul's death.”

I groaned, and shook my head at her, “I'm your guardian angel, Christine. Shutting me out will only do more harm than not.”

She shook her head again, chocolate curls flying across her face, “I can't do this anymore, Erik. Raoul was right... you would haunt us until we're dead. Please, leave us alone. Just go somewhere,  _ anywhere _ , away from here.”

“I told you, I can't. I'm bound to you.”

She threw the crepe over the mirror, and I was finally blocked out. Again. Possibly for eternity, this time. Maybe that was for the best. 

She left the room in tears, but instead of following her, my knees gave away and I sunk to the floor, gripping at the furniture closest to me, trying to keep myself afloat. My chest ached, my limbs sore. It felt as if time itself stopped. I could hear nothing and my eyes were fading.

I needed to leave. I couldn't stay here anymore.

Even if I suffered that white-hot pain for eternity, it seemed a nicer fate than staying with a Christine who despised me. Who loathed me. Her cold, unwavering eyes flashed in my mind and I could see the betrayal, rage,  _ despair _ that sang in her gaze. She didn't want me to protect her anymore.

I clambered myself up, walking directly forward until I passed through every wall that led me outside. It was now dark, a full moon shining against the waves of the Baltic sea. I spread my wings, reveling in the sensation of them unfolding to their full girth. I normally kept them down, as they had become useful to me these past few decades. Now, I had a use for them. I needed to escape, I needed to go anywhere but here.

As I expected, I could not get far until that unbearable ache in my chest returned. It had been years since I last experienced it, but it was just as unpleasant as it had always been. I screamed and clawed at my chest, hoping for a release. For freedom. An angel was useless if bound by chains.

The sky darkened, the smoky trails swarmed around me. It was the same as my first day in this afterlife. I snarled, growing frustrated at this turn of events. That same invisible force was holding me hostage to Christine's life, and I was helpless to fight against it. I wondered now if a god truly existed, who was holding me back.

I kept walking forward, trying to push back the pain. It only grew worse with every step I took, and those wisps were whizzing past me now, swirling around my figure. 

_ You can't go yet. _

I stopped. A voice, unfamiliar, was speaking to me. It was barely above a whisper, yet I could understand every word. I knit my brows, shaking my head.

“I have to.”

_ You can't. You're not finished. _

“Who are you? Or...  _ what _ are you?”

_ I have many names. _

The pain was subsiding now, and it was a dull ache. I paid little attention to it, instead focused on this strange change of events.

“You're not a god, are you?”

_ That is a name I hold. _

I burst into laughter, my eyes rolling in disbelief, “There are no gods! You try to fool me with your lies.”

_ I gave you this life. Show respect. _

I scoffed, “A life of solitude, of hatred, and all for what? A hideous face? You mock me! I never wanted the life I was given, you expect me to be grateful?”

The voice went silent at that. I grinned, feeling triumphant. Debating with a god was approximately not how I imagined this night going.

“Then tell me, if you are a god, or  _ the _ god, why I'm trapped in this afterlife? Bound to a woman who does not love me?”

_ You will know when your task is finished. _

“My  _ task _ ? You hold me hostage to this world as a ghost, expecting me to run your errands?”

The voice went silent again, and the wisps of smoke swirled together before my eyes. The visage of Christine appeared in the smoke, and my throat went dry. It was a moving image, and I watched her helplessly. Her curls were scattered over her face, messy and disorganized. Her gaze was empty. I could see now she was in the library, watching the mirror, the black crepe removed.  _ She was waiting for me. _

The image then shifted to Erik, who was sitting on his bed and jotting something down in his notebook. My heart seized, and I drew up my hand, brushing my fingers into the smoky image. I longed to see him again, and Christine, as well. 

_ There is much left to do. _

The voice called me from my daydreaming, and I nodded, “They need me, don't they? I'm their guardian... I need to be there for them.”

_ Yes. Finish your task, and you will be free. _

I laughed lightly, “Free, huh? It's about time.”

I turned away from the smoky wisps, towards the house by the sea, “Just one more thing, god, or whoever you may be.”

When the voice said nothing, I continued, “Why did you choose me? To protect Christine?”

_ You already know the answer. _

“Because I love her?” I chuckled, shaking my head, “I hardly know anymore if I do.”

_ You shall see. _

With that, the smoke whisked away, the sky returned to its normal shade. I was back at the house, my legs carrying me to the library where I knew Christine was waiting for me. 

Yet when I arrived, I couldn't bring myself to appear before her. 

I had frozen just inches away. I easily could have taken one more step, and she would see me. Maybe then we could reconcile, and do away with this horror of a night. This horror of twenty-five long, insufferable years.

But I never made the step. Never took initiative. It took her many moments of waiting before she finally covered the mirror again, stepping out of the room with a blank expression.

Maybe it was better this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey thanks again for being patient for these chapters! I've been playing Overwatch nonstop lately. Blame Overwatch. I'll try to get the next chapter out asap since I'm starting classes soon and I'm gonna be super busy. It's gonna the final chapter, oh boy
> 
> I wrote the majority of this in several hours thanks to my wifi not working lmao so if the pacing is weird, I apologize


	7. The End Marks the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey what's up, sorry this took, uh... nine months. I was super distracted with making overwatch fic and other projects, but here, it's DONE. this chapter isn't super long (only 4k) but it's the finale, and I hope you guys enjoy the ending despite the super long wait! Thank you again for the support!

Time moved on faster than I could process. Before I could even bat an eye, Erik had entered his thirties. His life carried on the same as before: work on a project for pay, then return home for more work only to leave again. At this point, his skills with architecture were so widely known throughout Sweden that he had been commissioned often for reparations to older buildings. Much of his time was spent on the mainland, leaving Christine by herself. Eventually, his work had become so renowned, he even traveled outside of Sweden to places such as Paris and London, keeping him away from home for even longer.

I was with Christine as well, of course, but my anxiety to appear in the mirror only continued to grow with each passing year. The thought of speaking to her now was positively unbearable. Even if she told me directly I had no negative effect to her well-being, I refused to believe it. I figured now it was best to remain the invisible angel watching over her.

As for Erik, he couldn't stand being far from me. I felt so much more comfortable with him at the mirror, and we made a habit of interacting through it. I felt lonesome when he was away, but he always made time for me whenever he was home. My heart swelled at his kindness.

His younger siblings had all moved on with their adult lives, living and working separately. Lucille remained in Uppsala with her husband, while Marie was working in her field in Stockholm. Philippe, against Christine's wishes, landed a fishing job that forced him to move away to Gothenburg. Christine's children were now scattered around the land she knew as home, all save for Erik. I was unsure why Erik chose to remain in Visby when he easily could have traveled all over. Maybe he stayed for Christine's sake. Or mine.

Christine was only growing older still. Grey had been marking her hair for several years, and now that she was in her fifth decade of life, there was little left of the gorgeous brown I remembered so well. Her face was now defined by wrinkles, crow's feet making their marks next to her eyes. It was almost hard to believe she was now around the same age I had been when I died. Fortunately, in her case, she looked much better than I did.

Raoul's death left a permanent scar on Christine, one that was invisible and yet so painfully obvious. His death made a mark on all of us to be certain, including myself, but Christine suffered the most. Even after two decades, she remained the same. She was able to breathe and smile during holidays when the children would visit, or whenever Erik would remain at home for several weeks to keep her company before his next job. But I was with her during the time she spent alone, watching her suffer firsthand. Her long nights of lying awake in bed, afternoons spent gazing at the sea, and evenings spent in the library where she would read until she was so exhausted that she fell asleep in her chair until she began the cycle again the following day.

There was not much I could do for her as she grew older, unfortunately. My healing magic, or whatever abilities I had in this afterlife, did not seem to work the same as they did three decades prior. I was uncertain if I was simply losing them, or if there were other factors behind it.

Erik was her salvation now. As Christine was approaching her fifty-fifth birthday, Erik returned from a job just in time to celebrate with his lonesome mother. I was with them as they spent many enjoyable nights together, simply waiting for Erik to leave again and for the cycle to continue. However, several weeks passed, and he remained, and I grew perplexed. He normally did not stay any longer than two weeks, and he was nearing four. When he had a spare moment before the mirror, I approached him.

“Erik,” I called out to him from the mirror, an insistent hand against the glass. He perked up from the book he had been studying, and grinned. He was never opposed to speaking with me.

“Father,” he nodded, spinning around in his chair to face the mirror, “is something wrong? You sound troubled.”

“You've been home for quite some time. Do you not have another job to take?”

Erik paused, frowning. He turned back around in his seat to close his book, keeping his eyes averted, “I'm... not taking anymore jobs.”

I gave him a face, wanting him to turn back around just to see it, “Why not?”

He heaved a great sigh, shrugging his shoulders, “I'm worried about mother, and so... I'd like to stay. Make sure she's okay.”

“That's admirable of you, but I'm her guardian angel. I can keep her safe. I want you to live your life.”

Erik shook his head, turning around to face me again, “No, it's fine. This is what I want, father.”

I nodded slowly, understanding, “Then, I thank you. She will be very happy to have you around.”

***

Christine perked up more and more as she realized Erik was here to stay, but I could tell her health was beginning to wane. She often seemed pale, with heavy, ragged breaths and often needed to use much of her energy just to get out of bed. I felt an ache in my chest when I wondered just how much longer she would have. She only just hit her sixties, after all. She managed to outlive me by a decade, and that was an accomplishment in itself.

Erik, seemingly out of no where, asked Christine one night if he could invite an old friend of his to visit them. Christine seemed delighted at the idea, declaring a list of items she would bake for her son and his friend. I was curious, mostly. Erik hardly had any friends growing up, maybe one or two from Visby, but not ones he wanted to see regularly. Then again, I had seem him for so little for so long, he must have met many people during his travels for work.

When the said friend arrived, he was far from what I had expected.

His name was Rami, a young Persian man who lived in Stockholm. When Rami arrived to their home, he was very humble and kind, and I took a liking to him instantly. I almost wished I was still alive when I first saw him, if not only to show off and brush my Persian back into the fluency I once had. Christine took a liking to Erik's friend as well, welcoming him into their home with gifts of croissants and tartes aux fruits. It was pleasant, for the home to be so lively again.

“How did you two meet?” Christine questioned them one night as they sat together for dinner, eating a traditional dish from Persia that Rami made for all of them.

Rami and Erik exchanged glances, the latter's golden eyes lighting up as he went to recount the story, “We met in Stockholm! Rami moved there from Persia about fifteen years ago, and he was part of the job I took to restore the clock tower up there.” He spoke with enthusiasm, nearly springing from his chair and waving his arms around as he explained.

“You two get along so well!” Christine beamed.

Christine and I hardly bat an eye when Rami remained in the home for two weeks. Or three. Or a month. When three months passed, that was when I grew curious. Rami and Erik were always at each other's side, I knew that much. But what I did not expect was just how close they truly were. I felt silly for being so dense as to not notice, until I walked through the door into Erik's room one night to see them sharing a bed, arms linked around the other. I laughed at myself for it later on, but the initial sight was a surprise, to say the least.

I held no emotional response once I learned the truth. In fact, I was heavily reminded of a man I once knew of the same kin as Rami... Nadir, that was right. It was hard to believe it had been forty years now since I passed, and that was the last time I saw him. A man I knew for thirty years, and I nearly forgot his name. I was not worthy to know a man as brilliant and kind as he was.

Thinking of Nadir had me thinking back to so very long ago. How long now? Surely it must have been about seventy years. When I was a young, foolish man who was dragged to Persia to make the palace of dreams for a Shah I couldn't stand. That time of my life was filled with hatred, frustration, and the sharp pains of betrayal. I finished the palace only for the Shah to call for my execution, if not my eyesight. Nadir saved my life that day, a gift from him that I wasted when I returned to Paris only to live in seclusion. Even now, I couldn’t figure out how he had forgiven me.

The time I spent in Nadir's extravagant home was what I truly looked back on fondly from that time. I spent much of my days there with his son, Reza. I had become something of a friend to the boy, maybe even another father, and I remembered the jealously that seethed in Nadir whenever Reza wanted to spend time with me. But after the boy's death, Nadir grew cold and distant. I never blamed him for it. Why would he care for the man who killed his son?

Things changed, eventually. Before I was forced to leave Persia, there were many nights spent in Nadir's room. I could not remember exactly what occurred between us, but there was an unnamed emotion that wavered over us. I remembered long Persian nights, the desert air cold and unwavering. We would share his bed, limbs tangled together. But there was nothing beyond sharing warmth. I knew there was the desire for more, but the fear that came from it was just as prevalent.

I remembered that I wanted to kiss Nadir. I wanted to curl my fingers in his hair, press my body against his, and my lips as well. But I was never brave enough. As for him, I was certain he thought I held no feelings for him beyond camaraderie. I wondered now if he spent his life thinking his love was always one-sided. I suppose, with the way I shunned him later on in our lives, he may have been right.

But seeing Rami and my son together that way, I realized I regret what I did to Nadir. By the time I knew I wanted to spend my life with him, it was too late. Mine had already ended. The last two weeks of my life I spent with Nadir at my side were bliss, and I wished I could have thanked him sooner.

***

After five years since Rami moved in and essentially became part of the family, Christine's health finally waned enough that she became bedridden. The tension was thick within the whole house, as Erik could do nothing but watch as his mother was dying, ever so slowly. I, too, was wrought with grief. The woman I had loved for so long was nearing the end of her life at sixty-five years old. It was fortunate she lived as long as she did, but her children and grandchildren were now growing old just the same. I suppose this was simply the way life weaved together, but that did not make it any less tragic.

The children and their children visited as often as they could. Lucille was very busy with her husband and three children, but now that she was only with her youngest, she had the time again to return to Visby. Marie was preoccupied with her work, but even she took time off to meet with her mother again. It took longer for Philippe to visit, as he was now living in America with a young New Yorker he met on a voyage several years ago. 

I never left her side. Christine remained bedridden from how far her health had waned, and so I stayed with her during the long days and nights that she was confined to her sheets. She spent most of those days sleeping, and during the few hours she could stay awake, Erik tended to her needs. I remained idly by, refusing to leave the room. Even though my hand slipped through her skin, I kept it against hers. 

Erik was distraught, to be sure. The only family he still remained close to had a foot in her grave. In the rare instances I left Christine’s side, I could overhear him speaking to Rami about the imminent future without his mother. 

“I don’t know what to do once she’s gone,” Erik poured out to Rami one night in the foyer, the orange glow of the fireplaces licking their skin alight. The crackling was the only noise in the room after his words rang out. Rami wound an arm around Erik and they pressed closer together on the sofa. That was the first time I saw Erik cry. I hoped it would be the last.

The days were long, and difficult for everyone. They passed by so quotidian, in which days became weeks and weeks became months. Christine slept more and more often, and at this point, there was nothing to do but wait and see when the last time would be that she would drift off. My chest flooded with so many clashing emotions. Sorrow was prominent, but also… terror. What was to happen to me once she finally left this world? Would I be free to spend eternity together with her and Raoul? No… I didn’t deserve that. Such bliss is not meant for one such as myself.

***

It was late, somewhere around midnight, not that I was keeping watch on the grandfather clock ticking away inside Christine’s bedroom. It was pouring outside, but there was a fortunate lack of a thunderstorm. Yet, Christine was unable to sleep. This was odd, and my heart clenched tightly when I pondered over every possibility as to why this was. Normally, she slept so soundly. Not even the end of the earth itself could have woken her once she was out.

_ Something must be wrong, _ the very back of my brain kept convincing me. I shunned it away, cradling Christine’s hand into the ghostly ones of my own. I hoped my healing aura could keep her stable.

I heard the tiniest and most fragile voice, which startled me. It came from Christine, and while it was indiscernible, she cleared her throat to speak again, and my eyes went wide as saucers at her words. “Erik? Are you here?”

Tears threatened to drip out, but I held myself under control. I massaged her hand despite mine vanishing through hers. She must have been seeking our son Erik, and I pondered if I should try to fetch him through the mirror in his room. As soon as I stood to go to him, she croaked again, her voice nearly a whisper.

“Erik? Angel, are you here?”

I froze, letting the tears flow freely.  _ She was seeking me _ . I was so stunned, I could only stand there and let this information sink in. Slowly, I sat back down, my hands stroking hers despite how they phased through. “I am here, Christine. Your Angel of Music is with you.”

Christine smiled at that moment, her frail and wrinkled face creasing around her mouth. My breath hitched.  _ Could she hear me? _

“Good,” she whispered, blinking ever so slowly. “Angel? Will you sing for me?”

I blinked, remaining stunned. It was impossible to tell if she could hear me, or if she was simply delusional. However, for a dying woman who I loved dearly, I would do anything.

I sat there for several moments, pondering over what I should sing for her. I thought back to our days at the opera, however few we shared together. Something from Don Juan Triumphant was out of the question--I didn’t want to frighten her. A soothing melody would suffice, but what? I needed to think quickly.

And then it hit me with the force of a lightning strike. I inhaled, exhaled, and cleared my throat. It had been so long… so long ago.

“ _ Oui, c’est moi, je t’aime, _

_ Oui, c’est moi, je t’aime, _

_ Malgre l’éffort même _

_ Du démon moquer, _

_ Je t’ai rétrouvée, _

_ Je t’ai rétrouvée! _

_ Te voilà sauvée _

_ Viens, viens sur mon cœur.” _

I paused, knowing the next part belonged to Marguerite. Christine lay there, and for several moments I remained unsure if she could hear me. She was smiling, no, she was  _ beaming _ . It had been several decades since I had seen her looking so overjoyed.

She sucked in a long breath, and began to speak Marguerite's part from the next scene, “ _ Anges pure, anges radieux, _

_ Portez mon âme au sein des cieux, _

_ Dieu juste, à toi je m’abandonne, _

_ Dieu bon, je suis à toi, pardonne.” _

As much as I wished to hear her singing voice one final time, it was clear that even speaking was giving her great trouble. My eyes pricked with tears once more, knowing fully well the meaning of those lyrics.  _ Pure and radiant angels, carry my soul up to heaven.  _ This was it, then. She was dying, and she knew it.

I continued, “ _ Viens, suis-moi, je le veux! _

_ Viens! Quittons ces lieux! _

_ Déjà le jour envahit les cieux, _

_ Viens, c’est moi qui te l’ordonne, _

_ Déjà le jour envahit les cieux!” _

Maybe this was my desperate plea for her to remain awake, for her to never leave my side. But her voice went quiet once more, and we ceased the play as soon as she spoke directly to me, forcing my heart to thump in my ears.

“Angel, Erik…” she pressed her hands against mine, and for the first time since I was cursed this way, I could feel her touch. I did not phase through, and she looked directly into my eyes, and I wondered now if she could see me. Cobalt eyes met gold, the latter glistening with tears. “Thank you... for all you have done.”

“ _ Christine _ ,” I pleaded, my grip on her tightening and growing desperate, “you can’t leave. You can’t do this. You are my muse! I am nothing without you… please…”

She smiled again, and she ran her thumb along my hand. I glanced down, wincing when I saw how thin her skin was and the way her veins and bones stood out like mountain ranges. After all these years, we traded places. My skin had been cured after my death, no longer appearing as a living corpse. How ironic.

“I am sorry…” Christine suddenly whimpered, her voice going achingly soft and her eyes slipping shut, “I do not think I will be here much longer…”

“Christine!”

She ignored me, reaching up her hand to cup my cheek. I was more shocked that I could feel her touch, and the way she massaged my cheekbone with her thumb, than the fact that she made an effort to touch me at all. I was unworthy of such an act from such an angel.

“I always did love you, Erik. I want you to remember that… when I’m gone.”

I released a shaky breath, “I would sooner die again than forget.”

She chuckled lightly, moving her hand to brush my hair. “Raoul and I will be waiting for you.”

I nodded, and silently pulled her hand back, pressing my lips against the curl of her wrinkled fingers. She grinned softly at that, but I noticed the ways her eyes were drooping. My breath shot out of me entirely.

“Take care… of our son.”

With that, Christine Daaé closed her eyes, for the final time.

I remained there, paralyzed, until morning. It wasn’t until Erik entered the room to discover his mother that I even realized the passage of time since her death. My hands never left hers, and when Erik stood where I remained seated, I phased through him, once again becoming an enigma of the afterlife.

I stood, leaving the room, letting Erik mourn in solitude. Pacing through the foyer, my mind was rattling, and I had to find the nearest mirror I could, settling for the one in the library. Seeing my form for the first time in months was not what caused me distress, but it was the fact that I had not changed at all. Christine had passed. Yet my angelic form remained. Anger began to fume inside me.

God, or whoever it was who made me this way,  _ lied _ to me. They claimed that if my purpose was fulfilled, I would regain my freedom. Yet here I was, still an angel, and with one less person I loved. I was beyond furious, and I left the home against the cliffside. I unfurled my wings and made to take off, knowing that nothing could keep me bound to this place any longer. 

Was I truly free if it meant I had to roam the world for eternity, in complete solitude?

This wasn’t what I wanted. Everyone I loved was waiting for me: Nadir, Ayesha, Raoul, and now, Christine. They were all in heaven, and here I remained… an angel in hell.

I didn’t even make it off the island of Gotland before the familiar pain forced itself into every limb, and I screamed. It wasn’t a scream of pain, but  _ frustration. _

“Why?!” I screeched, pointing to the sky, questioning the authority of the god who cursed me in this way, “I have fulfilled my purpose! You promised me freedom, you unholy demon!”

When there was no response, the anger in me sizzled away as if doused by water. All that remained was despair. “I am tired. I’ve spent enough time in this miserable world… you’ve taken all of the joy I had. What more do you ask for? Let me rest in peace… please.”

_ Have you forgotten? _

I frowned, not in the mood for these mind games. “Forgotten what?”

_ Your kin. _

I blinked once, my eyebrows shooting up to my hairline.  _ Oh. I was a fool. _

Immediately, I returned to the house, heading directly to Christine’s room. I found Erik sitting in the chair I had occupied for months, his posture slouching as he stared blankly at Christine’s lifeless form. His eyes were devoid of light. Rami was in the room as well, but kept his distance from Erik, possibly realizing he needed some space.

I was a fool not to realize it sooner. While I huffed away in a fit of rage, I left my son alone to grieve by himself. Christine was never my only purpose. Their family was, and that included my own. I failed Raoul, but when I gazed down at Erik’s blank and empty form, I decided I would never let that happen again.

I stepped over to Erik, setting a hand against his shoulder. A few moments of silence passed, and ever so slowly, his spirits lifted. The light returned to his eyes, he sat up straight in the chair, and he released his grip on Christine’s hands.

“Rami,” Erik spoke for the first time that morning, “will you help me take care of her? She deserves a proper burial and ceremony.” Rami nodded silently in response.

I watched with a swelling sense of pride at the quickness Erik took to have Christine prepared for her burial. My son, the genius, just like his father. He had a long life left to live, and, after all…

The end marks the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this ending planned out from the very beginning when I start this story almost a year ago, and it felt reaaaally satisfying to finally put it to words. I know this isn't the happiest ending, but I was aiming for something... bittersweet? It's not a very happy story in general, really.
> 
> The lyrics they sing are taken directly from Faust (the same opera used in Leroux's novel; it's one of my favourites) and here's my own translation of these lyrics:
> 
> -Yes, here I am! I love you!  
> Despite even the efforts  
> Of the jeering demon,  
> I have found you!  
> Now you are safe!  
> Here I am! Come, rest on my heart!
> 
> -Pure and radiant angels,  
> Carry my soul up to heaven!  
> God of justice, I give myself up to you!  
> God of mercy, I am yours, forgive!
> 
> -Come, follow me, come I say!  
> Come! Let us leave this place!  
> The sky grows light already!  
> Come, you must obey my bidding!  
> The sky grows light already!
> 
> Thanks again for the support of this fic! Unfortunately this might be my last phantom fic (not forever but for a looong time) as I'm pre-occupied with overwatch still, plus college. But I won't ever leave the phandom, so I'll be back to posting stuff eventually!


End file.
